


Surrender

by RedWinePrincess



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angry Thranduil, Asshole Thranduil, BAMF Thranduil, BDSM, Bad Attempts at Elvish, Blackmail, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Controlling Thranduil, Dark Romance, Dark Thranduil, Dark fic, Deviates From Canon, Dom Thranduil, Dom! Thranduil, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Elves, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Extortion, F/M, Femsub, Fingering, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Gondor, Graphic Violence Strong Language & Sexual Content, Gratuitous Smut, Half-Elves, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Jealous Thranduil, Kinky Thranduil, Lampshade Hanging, Loss of Virginity, Maledom, Maledom/Femsub, Manipulative Thranduil, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Multiple Orgasms, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, No Pregnancy, No Slash, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Not a Love Story, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Thranduil, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Original Character(s), PWP, Please Don't Kill Me, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Thranduil, Post-Hobbit, Post-Movie(s), Power Imbalance, Public Blow Jobs, Public Humiliation, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Violence, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sorry I Killed Legolas, Spanking, Subspace, Thranduil Kink, Thranduil being a complete & utter bastard, Thranduil is a jerk, Top Thranduil, Training, Vaginal Fingering, Villain Thranduil, Villain Wins, Wine, changes from movie canon, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 33,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWinePrincess/pseuds/RedWinePrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set approximately 300 years after Lord of the Rings. A great war is raging between the people of Gondor & the elves of Mirkwood, following the assassination of King Eldarion & his Queen, the elleth Eowéniel on the eve of their thirtieth wedding anniversary by agents of a jealous King Thranduil, after Eowéniel spurned his advances to wed the son of Aragorn & defied his orders to return to her home. In his rage Allela, son of the slain King, marched the armies of Gondor against the elven stronghold at Mirkwood, where he was eventually defeated following heavy casualties on both sides, including the death of Thranduil’s only son Legolas at the hand of Allela. Mad with grief, the Elvenking pursued the retreating Gondorian forces into the Dead Marshes, slaying the remnant & marching south to Minas Tirith. Now Elália, younger sister of Allela finds herself unprepared for the Queenship with a diminished army & an elven host before the gates of her city…</p><p>My first fic, be kind! Rated Explicit, as this is a dark fic & will be taking an extremely smutty turn (read the tags, people!). If you have issues with BDSM, dubious consent or anything else tagged, I suggest moving along!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a kink fic involving Thranduil, without resorting to the usual human girl gets lost in/time-travels to Mirkwood or elf maid ideas, yet still someone who would find herself at a disadvantage. Sorry for the dead family trope! All original character names were created using an online generator & have no hidden meanings or intentional relation to any cannon characters. Please excuse any errors in the Sindarin used, as I have no personal knowledge of the language & had to rely on online resources - corrections are welcome! Took a small liberty with Thranduil's powers under duress (given that many believe the Elves to have some control over the elements). 
> 
> This work has been in progress for a few weeks now, so I'm publishing to encourage myself to update it. I may change the title later, depending on how things develop. How many chapters it runs for will depend on how long I remain unemployed, but I will make sure it receives a proper conclusion either way. Apologies for the flimsy writing of the set-up to the smut, but chances are that if you're reading this fic, you didn't exactly come here for the plot...

Elália was awakened from her troubled sleep before daylight broke by her handmaiden Bronwyn shaking her shoulder, the troubled expression on the woman’s kindly face immediately filling her with dread. “Princess Elália!” the older woman whispered urgently. “My apologies, Your Grace, but the captain of the guard must speak with you at once.” Elália sat bolt upright immediately & motioned for her robe. It had been three days hence since she had last had word from Allela, just before he began his attack on Mirkwood. She had not slept easily since, her concern over her brother’s rashness resting uneasily with tales of the Elvenking’s prowess in battle. Pulling her robe tight around her, she sprinted barefoot to the throne room.

Bursting through the doors, she met with the sight of Fyrwen, captain of her brother's household guard, sitting on the steps on the dais holding her auburn head in her hands. A man whose name she did not know was sprawled next to her, three elven arrows protruding from his body & blood spilling from his lips. His lack of heavy armour confirmed what Elália knew already in her heart: that he was an outrider, a scout who had barely managed to escape with the ill news that her brother’s revenge had failed.

Elália barely heard the words of the dying man before her, even as he choked out that her brother had slain the Elvenprince Legolas, before King Thranduil’s scream of anguish seemed to rend the earth itself, opening up the ground beneath the feet of the Gondorian host, forcing Allela to flee with the remainder of his forces. They made it as far as the Dead Marshes, before the Elvenking’s wrath caught up with them, the outrider barely escaping to return to Minas Tirith with the grave news that Thranduil continued his march towards the White City.

Elália’s world span as she sank to the dais, whilst advisors & councillors filled the Throne room. The young half-elf had always been content with the life of a Princess, never wanting, nor expecting, to be Queen, yet now she felt Bronwyn & Fyrwen’s arms gently pulling her to her feet, walking her up to the throne. Elália felt lost as men & women fretted about her, telling her that Thranduil’s army would reach the gate by late afternoon. How was she supposed to defend the city against the might of the Elvenking, when her brother had left her only the household guard & barely a company of men at the outer wall garrison? Someone (she did not even care to look who), set Eowéniel’s glittering circlet amid her white-blonde curls, as she nodded silently along with Fyrwen, who told her that there was no choice now but to ride out & make a stand: the Queen must be an example for her people, then along with old Maester Cael, who argued that she should remain in the City to protect & comfort her people in their time of need: that Rohan would surely come to her aid if she lit the Beacons of Gondor.

When Elália could stand to hear no more of their talk she ordered Fyrwen to light the Beacons, as it could do little harm regardless, then swiftly rose & retreated to her elegantly-furnished chambers. She discarded the delicate white gold circlet immediately to a nearby table, then sat upon a red velvet chaise-lounge, pulling her long legs up to her chin, her gaze directed out of the open window to the eerily calm horizon. Fear & anger vied for position inside her mind, as she weighed the options in her head. Elália cared little enough for her own life now, that the idea of riding out & trying to stick a sword through the throat of the ellon responsible for killing her parents sounded a fine one. But could she really abandon the innocent of her city to death, when there was still a chance that they could be saved, were she able to withstand the elvish siege for a few days?

Elália was still struggling with her thoughts hours later, when the first glint of gold armour appeared at the edge of the Pelennor.


	2. Chapter 2

Wordlessly, Elália allowed Bronwyn & her other handmaidens to dress her in the mythril armour that had once belonged to her mother & reposition the shimmering circlet of the Queen upon her head. Elália had inherited much from her mother & had the lithe form of an Elleth, with only the curls she had inherited from her father & her slightly rounded ears betraying her human heritage. The long life of the Eldar had been granted to both Elália & Allela, according to her mother, though Elália doubted that would soon matter. She did not know what had become of the Crown of Gondor that her brother had worn into battle, neither did she wish to. Elália had always assumed that her Dunedin father would live a long life & that her brother would marry & have children, thus absolving her of the burden of rule. The loss of their parents had left her brother ill-prepared for his crown, his grief leading him to the folly of war with the Woodland Realm & ultimately, his death.

Elália felt less prepared still as she accepted her mother’s sword, Gilgalad, from Fyrwen & walked from her chambers into the warm summer evening breeze that was sweeping in from across the Pelennor fields. A stableboy brought her horse Celegmir & Elália effortlessly mounted the white steed, a gift from her father on her twenty-fifth name day.

Elália rode down the concourse with Fyrwen & Bronwyn behind her, past the resplendent White Tree, to the edge of the High Seat & looked out upon what appeared to be a sea of shining gold, barely half a league from her gates. The wind whipped around the exposed platform, blowing her thick hair wildly about her face. From the corner of her eye, she noticed uninterestedly that Bronwyn was having much the same trouble with her greying brown tresses.

She sat motionless atop Celegmir as Thranduil’s forces approached. It seemed as though every elf in Middle Earth had been summoned by the King of Mirkwood & all the ones departed for Valinor besides. Would the Rohirrim really come, for the sake of an ally that was now all but powerless & a Queen they barely knew, when they had declined to join her brother’s march? She twitched the reins nervously in her hands as the elven host came into focus, most with dark Silvan features, but scattered throughout she saw the pale hair of the Sindar, so like her own. Towards the centre of the line, one elf in a swirling red cloak stood out, mounted atop what appeared at that distance to be a large elk. Thranduil, she guessed, although she had never seen him for herself. Elália felt a surge of anger at the sight of the Ellon who had branded her mother a traitor, his forces slaughtering her parents & their guard as they returned across the Pelennor from Osgiliath only a few short moons ago.

Barely had she begun to turn Celegmir’s bridle to ride for the gates, when the oncoming army suddenly stopped, two hundred yards from the edge of the lower wall. Three riders broke away from the main line, the rear two pulling a small cart covered with a sheet between them. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Elália stopped in her tracks & watched as two of the elves removed the covering from the cart, revealing the body of Allela. From where she was stood, Elália could see the shimmer of Andúril placed across his chest. Even from a distance, he resembled their father strongly. Elália watched the final elf produced what looked like a small scroll from within her pocket with tears streaming down her cheeks. Holding it up clearly for those in the White City to see, the elleth proceeded to thread an arrow through the sealed document, notched it to her bow & fired it high into the sky above Minas Tirith.

The wind took the arrow & it fell to the ground just inside the fourth circle of the city. Fyrwen shouted for it’s retrieval & a flurry of activity erupted from below, the fourth wall guards scrambling to grab the message. Elália watched through her tears as the elves left the cart to return to their ranks & sobbed, looking down on the body of her last remaining kin, until Bronwyn took the reins of her horse & guided her away from the wall’s edge, back towards the Seven Stars Inn. A serving girl appeared with a cup of wine & Elália dismounted her horse, gratefully accepting the drink as Bronwyn led her to a bench to await the Elvenking’s missive.

Elália drank deeply of the wine,tears drying on her cheeks. She knew now that no matter what, she had to fight to save her city: that she could not throw her life away & allow Thranduil the satisfaction of so easily destroying the last of her parent’s line. Elália would remain within the walls & ensure that her people endured.

An hour or more passed before the rider appeared from below, a young boy of about sixteen clad in a page’s uniform, riding as though the wargs of Mordor were behind him. He almost fell from his horse in his haste to dismount & stumbled into a clumsy bow before the Queen, before offering her the scroll with outstretched hands. Elália thanked the boy, who nodded & scrambled away embarrassed. With the tip of Gilgalad, she slit the red wax seal that bore the intricate emblem of Mirkwood & unrolled the tightly-wound parchment.

_‘His Majesty King Thranduil, son of Oropher & King of the Woodland Realm seeks entry into the White City with his personal guard in order to return the body of King Allela, son of Eldarion to his sister Elália & discuss the survival of Minas Tirith. If agreed, Elália is to send a single raven from the edge of the High Seat of Gondor before the shadow of Mount Mindolluin falls across the main gate. If not, our forces will attack & your city will swiftly fall. Our scouts watch the roads from Edoras. No help is coming to you.’_

Elália crumpled the note in her hand, crushed by the words she had seen. She knew it was not outside the realms of possibility that the Elvenking was bluffing, but it did not help her frayed nerves, nor her own suspicions. She threw the screwed-up page to the floor in a temper, knowing that the responsible thing to do meant acquiescing to his request. She looked up at the mountain behind her to see a shadow already creeping across the city. Fyrwen picked up the battered scroll, her eyes narrowing as she read it. With a resigned look, she turned to her Queen. “What would you have me do, Your Grace?”, she asked.

The Queen looked at her with sad eyes. “We cannot risk our people for the sake of pride. I will allow Thranduil his meeting. Send for a raven from the tower immediately & send word to the guards at the Great Gates that they are to open on the condition that he approaches with no more than ten of his guard.” She turned to the serving girl. “And somebody get me another cup of wine.”

Elália remained upon the bench near to the Inn as she drank her wine, sending Brownyn to gather the members of her brother’s Council who had not ridden out with him. She had not expected to face the Elvenking unless with a sword in her hand & the idea of entering into discourse with him was risible, yet she knew it had to be done. Fat Maester Cael approached on his brown palfrey, the embarrassed page from before trailing in his wake & bearing a caged raven. “Your Grace.” He said with a bow. “It is the right thing to do. We have little hope against such numbers. If Thranduil is willing to show us mercy, we must surely accept it.” Elália bristled, but nodded, knowing the old man was right. “I recommend that you receive them in the feasting hall, rather than the throne room. Some food & wine may win us a little favour, from what I know of this King. And given the hour, we would do well to provide suitable accommodations. Negotiations take time, if they are to be done properly.”

Elália rose, remounted Celegmir & motioned for the page to follow her. Turning back over her shoulder to Cael, she gave him leave to make the necessary arrangements. She turned & rode for the edge of the precipice, Fyrwen close behind her. She reined up just short of the cliff edge, Fyrwen & the page falling into place on either side of her. The page handed her the caged bird as the elven ranks broke before Thranduil’s mount, the Elvenking coming to a stop with a company of just six other elves a few yards ahead of the elvish central column. Elália scowled down at him, wishing deeply for any other solution but the one before her. Reluctantly, she released the bird from it’s cage.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was setting over the city as word came to Elália that Thranduil’s company approached the seventh level gate. Reluctantly, she exited her chambers & walked across the courtyard. On Cael’s advice, she had swapped her armour for a gown of pale blue silk, agreeing that if she intended for no blood to be spilled that night, it would be best to dress accordingly. She stood nervously beneath the White Tree to await her unwelcome guests, flanked by Fyrwen & her lieutenants. 

At the sound of hooves on concrete, the guards at the entryway sprang suddenly to life, opening the gates to reveal the mounted Elvenking & his party. Both the rider & his steed seemed to emit a faint glow against the fading light of dusk. The King’s red cloak seemed speckled with stardust, the effect magnified by his pale mythril armour. Elália could not see the cart on which her brother’s body lay & for that she was thankful, not wanting to expose her grief to her adversary. She assumed Maester Cael had made arrangements with the guards of the Seventh Gate to conceal it from her until she had received the Elvenking.

Seemingly in unison, the elves dismounted & approached the Queen of Gondor. Elália’s breath caught in her throat as the figure in the spiked crown came closer. She had heard that the King of the Woodland Realm was fair to look upon, but then so where most elves. The ellon drawing near was tall & strikingly beautiful, with piercing blue eyes. He carried himself with the confident & commanding air of a true King. Try as she might, Elália found herself unable to look away.

Thranduil noticed the daughter of Eowéniel as soon as he entered the seventh circle, almost taking her at first for her mother’s shade. Drawing closer, he noted the minor differences in their appearances; the woman before him had curls in her hair, a tell-tale sign of her damnable mortal father; her bust & hips were a little fuller, judging by the way the wind pushed her thin blue dress against her body; the ear that peeked through her hair was unmistakably Elvish, but more rounded at the top; & the blue eyes that he caught staring transfixed at him were not quite as bright. The pink lips that parted in awe of his beauty served to reminded him that Eowéniel’s never had, the elf maiden too stubborn to accept his love. Still, he smirked as he caught Elália’s eye. This one would doubtless be much more receptive.

Elália mentally kicked herself as the smug look spread over Thranduil’s perfect features. She had yet to say a single word to her enemy & yet she had given him the upper hand already. He drew to a stop in front of her, looking down at her arrogantly. “King Thranduil.” She held her hand out stiffly. “Welcome to Minas Tirith.”

“ _Princess_  Elália…” Thranduil sighed. Taking her small hand in his, he lifted it to his mouth, nipping the back of her palm sharply with his teeth, causing Elália to emit a small gasp of surprise. “Don’t you know you are supposed to kneel in the presence of a King?”

Elália flushed red with embarrassment & anger that he had caught her off her guard again. “It’s  _Queen_  Elália thank you very much! And a Queen does not kneel inside her own walls.” Realising that he still held her hand, she yanked it back in disgust, but the Elvenking held his grip, using it to pull her closer to him.

“We shall see.” Thranduil sneered, amusement dancing in his eyes as he looked at the flustered half-elf. He dropped her hand & turned back to his party, narrowly missing an obscene hand gesture from Fyrwen in the process. “But no need to rush. We have had a long ride & could use some refreshment.”

“Then by all means” muttered Elália, recovering slightly “follow me.” She turned & headed for the feasting hall, though food was the last thing on her mind. To her chagrin, Thranduil moved alongside her as she reached the doors. The Elvenking extended his arm for Elália to take, fixing her with an imperious stare as he did so, as if daring her to defy him. “ _Avon!_ ” she snapped. “Leave me be.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “ _Peddh Sindarin?_ ” he asked. “You speak our language?”

“Regrettably, not fluently. My mother was killed before she was able to finish teaching me.” Elália said in what she hoped was a suitably cutting tone. Quickening her pace, she climbed the stairs to the royal table. Much to her annoyance, Thranduil kept himself level with her as she approached the chair her father had once occupied, his halls ringing with laughter & music as he entertained many a visiting noble. Some nights, her mother would even sing for them, her beautiful voice filling the room, enough to bring a tear to the eye of many a battle-hardened warrior. Elália often wished she had inherited her mother’s talent, her own voice sounding high & girlish by comparison. Once a place where she had spent many a happy evening, the hall now seemed hollow & solemn.

A servant pulled out the chair of the King as Elália approached, when Thranduil suddenly took hold of her arm & pulled her backwards towards him, his other hand going to her hip as he whispered, “I do believe that is the place of the King.” He turned her gently but forcefully to the seat her mother used to occupy. Elália’s face burned as he steered her into the seat, pushing her down firmly by the shoulder when she did not move willingly. Behind her, Fyrwen gasped with indignation, as the Elvenking brushed past the shocked Queen to elegantly drape himself over the large seat in the centre of the table. Thranduil rested his head lazily on one hand, drinking in the sight of her humiliation, an arrogant smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

From the corner of her eye, Elália saw the Captain of her Guard’s hand twitch over the hilt of her sword. Though she shared the woman’s sentiments, she held up her hand below the table, commanding Fyrwen to stop. Reluctantly, the soldier did as she was bade & took the seat next to Elália. Praying that the incident had gone unnoticed, she turned her gaze back towards Thranduil, who met it immediately with his own. “A wise choice.” he told her coldly. “It would be a shame to have to remove your pretty little head from your shoulders, before we’ve shared so much as a drink together.” He snapped his fingers towards the members of his guard, who were approaching the table from the other side to take up the seats nearest their leader, Elália’s councillors having already filled up the chairs to the right of Fyrwen. “Speaking of which, I took the liberty of bringing some wine from my own stores.” Thranduil explained as an elf hurried over with a flagon, “I do not doubt the quality of your vintage, but the wines of men have little effect on our kind.” He indicated his & Elália’s goblets to the guard, who filled them deeply. Elália’s own cupbearers began to move along the dais, filling the cups of the men. “Drink.” he ordered her.

Elália automatically reached out her hand & lifted her cup to her lips, such was the power his voice commanded. The sight of her reflection in the dark red liquid, clad in her mother’s circlet, stopped her. She lowered her glass & pushed her chair back. Standing abruptly, she finally found herself in a position where the Elvenking was unable to look down on her. “King Thranduil.” She fixed him with the iciest stare she could muster. “It is considered poor form in Gondor to drink at a meal without first proposing a toast.” Elália paused. “But then, what should we drink to?” Thranduil shrugged, clearly amused. “To my mother Eowéniel, who died because of your pride? Or perhaps to my father, the great King Eldarion, who died because of your jealousy? Or maybe to my brother Allela, who died because of your spite?” She raised her glass. “To the House of Eldarion!” She shouted, glaring at the Elvenking with venom in her eyes.

“The House of Eldarion!” Shouted Fyrwen from her right, raising her own cup, a second before the rest of the hall took up the cry. Enjoying her small win, Elália plonked herself heavily back down in her seat & drank the entire goblet without pausing for breath. She set the vessel down on the table with a loud thud, refusing to look at the ellon next to her. An awkward silence descended over the hall, until Cael worriedly gesticulated for the servants to start bringing food from the kitchens & the royal musicians began to play quietly. One of the elves refilled her cup as a low hum of conversation broke out amongst the mortals to her right. Though her head was already starting to cloud, Elália reached her hand for the wine, her hand almost upon the glass when Thranduil caught her wrist.

“Not everything is as you would believe, girl.”, he told her quietly in Sindarin, as she reached for the wine with her free hand. “There are two sides to every coin. It was not my pride that killed your loved ones, but their own.” Elália tried desperately to remember a particularly obscene Sindarin insult as Thranduil continued. “I did not order the deaths of your parents, nor did I wish them. Many times, I ordered Eowéniel to abandon her foolish marriage & return to her own people. She chose to ignore those orders. Choosing to disobey a King is treason. I allowed her many chances to return peacefully over the years, but that made me look weak.”

“That’s why you killed my parents? To save face?” Elália took a large sip of wine, her hands balling into fists. “ _Chen fuion_!” she hissed. “You disgust me.”

“I wasn’t finished speaking, you impudent little brat!” Thranduil’s grip tightened around her wrist, becoming painful now. “I issued an order for your mother’s arrest, to bring her back to her own people. I sent enough elves to outnumber your father’s guard, hoping that she would see sense & return quietly to my realm. When she refused, it was Eldarion who attacked my elves, forcing them to act. Even then, once your father’s men were defeated & he & your mother surrounded, all he needed do was step aside. But he refused & charged with your mother at his side, even though it meant their deaths. Believe me when I say, nobody was sadder to hear of Eowéniel’s passing than I.”

Elália’s blood boiled. “How can you sit there & say that to me, her daughter? Or of my dear brother, whose grief led him to his death at your very hand?”

Thranduil reached out a hand & turned her face towards him, forcing her to meet his eyes as he moved his face only a few inches from hers. “I know better than anyone the strength of the bond between parent & child. But you have yet to reach even your thirtieth name day, where as I knew & loved your mother for over two centuries. And do not forget that your brother killed my own son, trying to avenge the foolish actions of your father. I could not let that go unpunished. Grief is a powerful force, Elália. So powerful, it has brought your people to the edge of ruin.” He leaned in & put his lips to Elália's ear, her head beginning to spin from the wine.  “The only question now, is what will you to to save them?”, he purred, biting her earlobe firmly. She stifled a small moan, hating herself for the heat spreading between her thighs. Thranduil released her, chuckling softly under his breath, clearly enjoying his advantage.

Elália sipped her wine furiously, trying not to look at the Elvenking as he ate beside her, but she couldn’t help but be transfixed by his other-worldly beauty in spite of herself. Whenever she stole a glance, he always seemed to catch her looking, returning an arrogant smirk in return. She waved away plates impatiently when they were brought over, ignoring Fyrwen’s pleas for her to eat something, wanting only to get things over with & get as far from Thranduil as possible. The world around her suddenly seemed to grow pale, as she seemingly heard his voice whisper inside her head, taunting her, “ _Cardh îr nin, iell_?” She turned towards him in shock, his bright blue eyes piercing hers. He repeated the question only she could hear. “Do you desire me, girl?”

“No!” Elália whispered furiously, knowing that neither of them believed the lie. Thranduil’s hand grazed her upper thigh beneath the bench as he rose, the quiet laughter in her head telling her he knew better. His guards rose with him. Elália panicked, fearing he had decided she wasn’t worth negotiating with. Was it because of her lie, or because he knew her to be weak? “King Thranduil?” She asked in the common tongue, her voice seeming much higher than usual, “Are you departing already? We have yet to discuss anything!”

Elália held her breath as Thranduil looked down at her, enjoying her fear for a moment before answering. “The hour is late & we have ridden far. I simply wish to rest a while before we begin our negotiation. Please have someone show me to my quarters.” Elália dared to breathe again, nodding to indicate two guards near the door. Relief flooded her as Thranduil swept majestically from the room, yet somehow the hall seemed to darken with his departure. Fyrwen & Cael tried to question her about their conversation, as Fyrwen was unversed in Sindarin & Cael, whilst he had received some education as part of his training, was sat too far away to follow the discussion. Elália ignored them both & finished her wine, allowing enough time to pass that she could be certain of not running into the Elvenking, then silently left for her bedchamber.

She closed the door behind her, the wine swimming in her head & fell upon her bed fully clothed. Finally alone, she allowed the tears to fall as she slipped into a drunken sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Elália slept fitfully, dreaming of her city under attack. Hordes of elven warriors on ladders stormed the walls of Minas Tirith, whilst a host of archers sent arrows flying into the lower half of the city, those that did not find flesh striking the walls & streets a in quick succession of thuds. With a start, she opened her eyes, yet the thudding noise remained. Coming to her senses, she realised someone was knocking at her doors. The sky was still dark, her bedchamber lit only by the remnants of the candles she had not bothered to extinguish. Probably Bronwyn coming to check on her, she thought. The woman worried too much. “Come in!” she called, still half asleep, her back to the doors. Elália did not bother to stir as they opened, closing her eyes tiredly. Footsteps approached the bed & she felt cool fingers slide her long hair away from her cheek.

“ _Echuio, Elália_.” a voice that could only belong to one person whispered in her ear, “Get up.” Elália froze in shock, her blood running cold. How could he have made it to her chambers unchecked? Regaining control of her body, she hurriedly rolled away from him  & off the opposite side of her bed, shouting for her guards as she did so. Thranduil walked calmly towards her, chuckling softly. He had changed into long robes of pale gold, with a matching cape. A silvery jewelled circlet crowned his platinum hair. The effect was even more ethereal & intimidating than he had first appeared upon his arrival in Minas Tirith. Elália backed away, continuing to shout for help from her soldiers.

“They will not come.” The Elvenking told her bluntly. “Not tonight.” He closed the distance between them swiftly, taking her gently but firmly by the shoulder, halting her retreat.

“What did you do?” Elália was suddenly horrified by visions of her guards murdered at their posts, bodies lying slumped in pools of blood against the wall outside her rooms.

“Worry not Elália, your men are merely sleeping.” Thranduil informed her, that annoying tone of amusement creeping into his voice again. Elália eyed the double doors worriedly, wondering if she could make it across the bed & through them before he caught her. Noticing this, Thranduil reached into his robes, pulling out a silver key. “I thought to lock the doors when I entered.” he said smugly. “I should not wish for us to be disturbed.”

“During what?” Elália asked, suddenly picturing herself amongst the dead.

“Our negotiations of course, silly girl.” Thranduil looked down at her. Elália was fairly tall for a female by Gondorian standards, yet still he towered over her. “Brief as they will be, of course. We both know you will give me whatever I desire.”

“King Thranduil.” Elália shook her shoulder free of his grip. “This is hardly the time or the place. Let us convene with our advisors tomorrow, after I have said farewell to my brother.” She turned her back to him. “And do not presume I would give you anything!”, she added defiantly.

The Elvenking’s features darkened, annoyed with her brazenness. “I do not think you understand your position, young one!” He snapped, whirling her around to face him. He gripped her tightly by her upper arms, his long fingers cutting painfully into her bare skin. “It seems I must show you.” Thranduil ran his eyes idly over her body. “I take it you are still pure?” he asked disinterestedly.

“What?!” Elália squeaked indignantly, unable to believe he would ask her such a personal thing. “That is no business of yours!” Thranduil tightened his grip on her arms, his nails starting to cut into her. Elália cried out in distress as he coldly repeated the question. “I am the daughter of the King.” she said weakly. “Most men tend to find that intimidating.”

“But I am not most men.” Thranduil brought his face level with hers, their lips almost touching, “And you will give yourself to me, Elália.” He reached behind her back deftly with one hand, pulling the lacing free of her dress.

Elália pulled away from his grip, his nails scratching her arm as she scrambled to stop the dress falling from her shoulders. “Get the fuck out of my bedroom, you son-of-an-orc!” She screamed at him. “I will do no such thing!”

Elália barely registered the flash of jewels in the candlelight as the back of his hand collided with her cheek, the force of the blow causing her to stumble backwards into the wall. Pain exploded across the side of her head as the Elvenking snatched her wrists, pinning them above her head with a firm grip. “You dare speak to me with such disrespect?” Thranduil hissed furiously, leaning in to press his body against hers. Elália gasped & tensed, enjoying the feel of him against her despite herself. “Mark my words, you insolent little girl: before the sun rises, I will have what I want. And you will beg me to take it.” He wound a hand into her long hair, holding her head firmly in place, his mouth grazing hers gently. Elália’s lips parted as if by their own volition, ready for his kiss. Instead Thranduil bit her lower lip hard, tasting her blood. “No,  _muin nin_.” He told her. “You had your chance to do this the easy way. Now everything you get from me, you must earn.”

He released her wrists, her dress slipping from her shoulders as her arms fell to her sides. Elália instinctively moved a hand to catch it, but Thranduil shot her a warning look. Reluctantly, she allowed the garment to pool uselessly at her feet, leaving her stood before him in only her thin white slip. With an almost bored-sounding sigh, he reached out & slowly slid the flimsy garment from her body, revealing her nakedness to him. “Much better.” He smirked. Embarrassed, Elália struggled to shield herself from his cold stare with her arms. “Hmm… I can see this being a problem, Elália.” he reached beneath his cloak, pulling out a coil of thin Elvish rope. “Fortunately, it was one I did not fail to anticipate.” He moved smoothy behind her & reached around to take her wrists in his hands. Realising it was useless to struggle, Elália allowed him to guide her hands behind her back. Crossing her wrists over each other with her elbows out to her sides, Thranduil bound her tightly, the rope digging into her flesh.

Allowing the remainder of the rope to fall to the floor, he circled her like a predator, his eyes raking over every inch of her body. Elália shuddered, fearing what he was about to do her. The Elvenking noticed. “ _Cardh thos nin, iell_?” he purred, stroking her still-burning cheek. “Do you fear me, girl?” Elália nodded, pitifully. “You are wise to do so.” He told her, pinching her erect nipple hard without warning. Elália whimpered  & tried to pull away, ashamed of the warmth spreading between her legs. “Still trying to resist me,  _Elália muin_?” Thranduil circled behind her again, picking up the end of the rope.

Grabbing her roughly by her upper arm, he pulled her over close to the arch that led to her bathing area, where a disused hook remained embedded in the ceiling. Its presence marked the place where a candelabra had hung until the room had been remodelled to include the extra space, to save the young princess the embarrassment of having to walk through the halls to her chambers following her evening baths.

With frightening accuracy, Thranduil threw the end of the rope up through the hook, catching it on the way down again. “When will you learn?” he sighed, as he pulled the rope upwards. Elália’s shoulders burned as her arms were wrenched away from her back, pitching her uncomfortably forwards. She planted her feet firmly apart to avoid falling, fearing her arms would be torn from their sockets if she did. Thranduil continued to tighten the rope mercilessly, forcing her to stand on the balls of her feet before he tied it off, leaving her completely helpless. “Now, we will have no more of your insubordination, will we?” He slapped her hard across the backside, causing her to cry out in pain as she jerked uncomfortably in her bonds. He smacked her again. “Answer me, Elália!”

“No!” she cried, the muscles in her shoulders protesting violently.

Elália felt his lips brush against her ear. “No, what?” he questioned, hitting her again, much harder than before. “No, King Thranduil!” she wailed, both her seat & shoulders searing with pain.

“Good girl.” He ran a hand down her back, trailing it lazily down to her hip as his other hand moved to her ample breast, stroking his fingers languidly down to the edge of her nipple. He softly traced the outline of the firm little bud with his index finger, before bringing his thumb up to firmly pinch her. Elália moaned softly as he rolled her teat painfully between his fingers, feeling moisture start to spread between her legs. “Do you like that, little Princess?” He asked mockingly, “Do you like it when I hurt you?” Elália shook her head, not wanting to admit her desire. “You are lying,  _muin_.” Thranduil lent over her, taking her other nipple in his mouth, continuing to tease the first. He ran his tongue roughly over the tip, before he bit down tightly. Elália cried out as he licked at the sensitive flesh.

He removed his hand from her hip & Elália gasped as he moved two fingers between her spread thighs to trace her entrance. Shame filled her as he touched her wetness. The world around her once again faded, hus voice echoing inside her mind. “ _Your body betrays you, muin nin_.” He allowed barely the tips of his fingers to push inside her, intensifying his assault on her chest. Elália moaned in pleasure, her back arching. “ _Filthy little slut, Elália_.” He traced his moist fingers downwards along her labia, dangerously close to her swollen clit. She whimpered in anticipation, desperate for contact. He continued to circle the sensitive nub torturously, until Elália writhed against her bonds, no longer caring about the agony in her shoulders. She heard laughter in her head as he finally grazed her with the edge of his finger, the touch shooting through her like electricity as she sighed in pleasure. Thranduil returned his touch to her moist lips, eliciting a frustrated moan from his victim.

“Th-Thranduil!” she implored him, “King Thranduil, please!” He ignored her, instead moving backwards to her slick cleft, swirling his fingers softly around her opening. Elália squirmed as she teased her. “Please, oh oh please!” she hissed. Seemingly content with her pleading, he slid his thumb backwards, finally stroking her quivering bundle of nerves. She squealed in pleasure, the tension in her body reaching unbearable heights. She cried his name again, feeling herself slipping towards orgasm.

Without warning, Thranduil pulled away from her, causing her to scream in frustration. “Do you want more,  _Elália muin_?” He asked her mockingly, as she began to call him all the names under the sun. “You’re going to have to show me a lot more respect than that, you know.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

Thranduil pulled the rope free in one fluid motion, causing Elália’s aching legs to buckle beneath her. Unable to balance herself, she fell forward against the Elvenking, continuing to curse him. He caught her effortlessly, his hand moving to grasp her painfully by the roots of her hair. Elália felt his hard cock press against her belly as he pulled her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You seem frustrated, Elália.” he smirked, “If you would have release, you must earn it.” He pushed her down to the cold stone floor, forcing Elália to kneel. He removed his cloak, looking down at her gloatingly. Unfastening the ruby brooch that held his robes closed, he shed those as well, revealing a well-toned torso & arms beautifully sculpted from long years of swinging a sword. Elália’s breath caught in her throat as he removed his belt & unbuttoned his trousers, pulling out his erect cock. “I knew I could make you kneel for me, _Elália muin_.” he told her, his hand going to her hair again, guiding her lips towards his length.

“Please” Elália whimpered, “I can’t! I don’t know how!”

“Then it is time you learned.” he said icily, pushing himself ruthlessly between her lips. Elália swirled her tongue uncertainly over the head of his huge member, finding the sensitive vein underneath. Thranduil groaned in pleasure. “Just like that, _muin._ ” he hissed. Elália obeyed, flicking her tongue quickly back & forth, before changing to sucking him hard. “Fucking slut!” he cried, pulling her head forward, forcing himself down her throat. Elália gagged & struggled futilely, fearing she would choke, Thranduil sighing deliriously. Holding her head rigidly in place with both hands, he thrust uncompromisingly into her, enjoying the way the sobs that had started to wrack her body felt as they constricted her windpipe around him. He shouted with ecstasy as he came violently down her throat, his seed erupting with surprising force. After he had spilled the last of himself, he wrenched himself free of the weeping, choking Elália & shoved her roughly away from him, her forehead colliding painfully with the floor as she fell onto her stomach.

Elália heaved as air rushed into her raw oesophagus, reeling from his cruel violation. “Fucking BASTARD!” she screamed at him, “You almost fucking killed me, you arsehole!”

Thranduil placed a booted foot firmly on the small of her back. “I thought you would have learned your lesson by now, you little brat.”, he said dispassionately. “You should not address your King in such vulgar terms.”

Elália raged. “You are not my King!” she spat, “And I am the fucking Queen of Gondor, not some ‘brat’.”

“You have the blood of the Sindar.” Thranduil answered her, “And that makes you my subject. To do with as I see fit.” He reached down & scooped the protesting Elália up effortlessly, throwing her over his shoulder. He carried her over to the bed, depositing her unceremoniously on her belly. Moving over to the nearest window, he picked up the curtain ties that hung redundantly on either side. Returning to the bed, he bound her ankles tightly to the bed posts, & lifted her waist to place a pillow beneath her hips, leaving her helplessly exposed.

He walked across to where his belt had fallen & retrieved it, returning with calm deliberation back to the bed, making sure she noticed the implement in his hands as he approached. Elália shivered as he ran the strap slowly down her naked back. “Now I will teach you the correct way to speak to a King.” he smirked. “This is going to hurt, Elália. A lot. And you’re going to be a good little girl & keep count for me.” Thranduil chuckled, “Oh & don’t forget to thank me after each one, _muin nin_.”

“Fuck you!” Elália snarled. He brought the belt down hard across her arse in response. “ _Ai!_ ” Elália wailed, surprised by the force of his blow.

Thranduil raised the strap again. “Do as I asked, Elália, or I will double your punishment.”

“One.” Elália muttered hesitantly. The Elvenking lifted an eyebrow. “Thank you, King Thranduil.” she added resentfully. With a smug laugh, he hit her again. Elália yelped, the sting spreading across her behind. “Two. Thank you, King Thranduil.” she said the words, hating herself for them. Tears sprang to her eyes as the third blow landed. Elália wailed pathetically, “Three! Thank you, King Thranduil!” She thought she heard him groan under his breath when he struck her again. “Four! Thank you, King Thranduil!” she screamed. She pleaded uselessly for him to stop between blows, but the Elvenking remained unmoved, administering a further ten blows to her agonised behind. He lashed her for a fifteenth time, using all of his considerable strength for the strike. “Fifteen! Thank you, King Thranduil!” she shrieked in anguish. 

Thranduil reached down to stroke her tear-stained cheek & Elália began to weep with relief, thinking her ordeal to be over, when she was suddenly shocked by the impact of the strap between her split thighs. She squealed in pain & indignation, as he trailed the belt gently over her sore clit, the friction strangely welcome. “Is there a problem, Elália?” he quizzed her. She thought about telling him to fuck off, before realising it wouldn’t aid her predicament. Instead, she shook her head meekly. “Carry on then, pet.” he instructed.

Swallowing her pride, Elália resumed her count. He whipped her four more times, taking care to allow the strap to rub against her throbbing sex between each blow, until she found herself writhing with need in between the cries of pain he elicited from her. “Twenty! Thank you, King Thranduil!” she hissed wantonly, as the strap trailed over her stinging pussy for the final time.

Thranduil dropped the strap down a few inches from her face, its surface damp with her juices. “See how wet you are, _muin nin_?” he growled, moving onto the bed to kneel behind her. He pinched her tender clit firmly between his fingers  & Elália whimpered, the contact blissful in spite of its harshness. He grabbed her by her hair with his free hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Do you want me to fuck you, Elália?”.

“Yes!” She hissed. “Please!”

He pinched her harder. “Are you sure, _muin_? I won’t be gentle, you know!”

“Ow! Oh!”, she whined, as he rolled her distressed nub excruciatingly between his fingers. “I don’t care anymore, just please, please let me come!”

“Who am I, Elália?” He questioned.

“My King!”, Elália hissed, as he continued to torment her.

He smirked again. “And who are you?”

“I... I...” Elália stuttered, “I am yours, my King!”

“My what?” he pressed, squeezing her tighter still.

“Your slut!” she cried wantonly, “Your bitch! Anything you want me to be, My King!”

Finally losing his composure, Thranduil thrust into her with a guttural moan. A sharp pain exploded inside Elália as her maidenhood tore & she screamed in distress. He drove into her pitilessly, his big cock stretching her tight little hole to its limit. Elália felt both pleasure & pain in equal measure, enjoying the two sensations in spite of herself, she gasped his name. He dipped his head to bite her roughly on the shoulder, their platinum hair pooling together as he continued his onslaught. Elália’s body tensed, her orgasm approaching. “Come for me now, my little whore!” he ordered her. Spots swam behind her eyes as she obeyed his command, long-overdue pleasure seeming to wash through every part of her body. “Such a good little slut, Elália.” Thranduil groaned. He straightened up into a kneeling position, dragging her back by her hips, until Elália found herself resting uncomfortably face down on the bed. He slammed into her, deeper & harder than before. His size hurt her far more this way & she whimpered as he fucked her tender pussy. He slapped her injured buttocks hard as he rode her & Elália felt herself tumble over the edge again, her body responding shamelessly to his mistreatment.

“It seems you like it rough, _muin nin_!” Thranduil gloated, hitting her again. He grabbed her roughly by her bound wrists  & now-tangled hair, dragging her body up against his. He released his grip on her arms to cup her breast, holding her body firmly against his. Pulling her head back sharply, he twisted her nipple & kissed her viciously as he came, shoving into her with wild abandon. Elália came again with him, crying his name one last time as she did so. 

With a mocking laugh, he threw her away from him, her still-twitching body sprawled on the bed. He rose & swiftly dressed himself, then unbound her chafed wrists & ankles as she lay gasping for breath. “Do you understand your place now, little one?” Thranduil asked her, bringing his hand down across her backside again.

“Yes, King Thranduil.” Elália whispered breathlessly.

“You understand now that you are powerless before me?” he questioned her smugly, adding another hard slap.

“Yes, my King.” she replied pathetically.

“Good girl. Say your goodbyes to your brother, Elália.” he told her coldly. “Tomorrow, we can discuss the terms of your surrender.” With that, the Elvenking turned & strode from the room.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Elália was awakened the next morning by the unwelcomely bright sunshine streaming into her room through the cracks in her drapes. Her shoulders screamed in protest as she pushed back the blankets, taking in her damaged wrists, the skin raw & the bruises from the rope slowly turning purple. A dull ache throbbed between her legs as she remembered her degradation at the hands of the Elvenking. Elália swung her legs over the side of the bed to stand up, wincing as her injured rear end slid over the sheets & made her way naked to her bathing area.

She stepped down into the large sunken bath, welcoming the feel of the warm water around her stiff ankles. Elália sank beneath the water, as though its embrace could cleanse her of the previous night’s disgrace. When the need to draw breath became too great, she rose & bathed quickly, deciding it would be prudent to be fully clothed before her attendants arrived.

Climbing from the bath, Elália went to grab a towel from the shelf, when the sight of her nude form in the mirrors upon the wall made her freeze in shock. Her cheek was slowly turning purple, save for the small cuts that were starting to scab over from where the Elvenking’s jewelled rings had struck her. Chafed red bracelets encircled her wrists & ankles, the colour matched by the bite mark on her shoulder. Her backside was bruised & criss-crossed with angry red welts, the skin cracked slightly where the vicious final blow had struck her. Deep scratches stood out against the pale skin of her left arm where she had twisted free of his grasp.

The marks of Thranduil’s conquest told the tale of her indiscretion. Elália felt sick, recalling how she had begged for him, how weak-willed she had been & how much she had enjoyed his rough treatment. Thranduil was right about one thing, Elália thought: she was unfit to call herself Queen. By her actions, she had betrayed her title, her family & her Country. Tears of shame pooling in her eyes, she picked up a towel & began to dry her hair. How could she face her people like this? Cael had advised her yesterday that she should break with the tradition of allowing Allela to lie in state & inter her brother’s body in the morning, so as to ensure he received a proper funeral should Minas Tirith fall. Elália had agreed, wishing to avoid having to play the composed & graceful monarch in front of the entire city in her time of grief. She now regretted her decision, wishing she had a few days to hide away & allow the tell-tale wounds to fade.

With a sigh of resignation, Elália wrapped the towel around herself & made her way to her dressing room. She stared contemplatively at the rows of dresses, but could find nothing suitable for a funeral that would cover her injuries completely, the style in Gondor tending towards sleeveless garments. She chose an elegant long black velvet gown that sat off the shoulders, the lower part of the skirt giving way to lace that was underlain with pinkish golden satin. Pulling it on, she was relieved to notice that the dropped straps covered the scratches on her arm, whilst the length concealed her ankles. Elália added a black silk scarf around her shoulders & selected two thick cuffs of rose gold to adorn her wrists. Her face represented a much larger problem. She patted a thick layer of powder over her cheek, which slightly diminished the appearance of the bruising, but did not come close to covering it. She brushed her damp hair over her shoulder, styling it into a loose low braid that draped across the side of her face, all but screening the injury from view. She slid her feet into a pair of black slippers with low heels, before heading to her bedchamber to retrieve the pale circlet, using it to secure her hair in position.

A knock came at the doors as she studied her appearance. Not wishing to bid anyone entrance to her rooms after last night, Elália instead walked over & opened the doors nervously. Peering through the crack, she was relieved to see Bronwyn & her junior handmaidens, come to assist her in getting ready. Bronwyn’s eyebrows rose in surprise as her Queen stepped out into the hallway: it was an unusual sight to see a member of the Royal family wait upon herself. “You are already dressed, Your Majesty?” she stuttered. Elália nodded curtly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to style your hair for you?” the handmaiden asked doubtfully.

“I am fine, thank you Bronwyn.” Elália replied, “Please inform Cael that I am ready.” Elália turned & walked purposefully down the corridor without breaking stride until she reached the steps outside, where she stood in the shade to wait. One of the handmaidens brought her a glass of wine to steady her nerves, but Elália declined, not wanting to look at it after yesterday.

The doors behind her swung open as Elália waited, her breath catching in her throat as Thranduil strode through them, accompanied by his Elves & two members of her own guard. She quickly averted her gaze, staring determinedly ahead whilst they passed. Elália sighed quietly with relief as the delegation reached the foot of the stairs, pleased that her presence had gone unacknowledged, save for the perfunctory salutes of her soldiers. She watched the Elvenking turn in the direction of the feasting hall, her stomach in knots. Without warning, he suddenly looked back at her, catching her eye with his usual smirk. He ran his gaze slowly over her body, taking in the lengths she had gone to to conceal the signs of his dominance over her. Elália’s face reddened with embarrassment & anger as he laughed softly under his breath & walked away across the courtyard. She scowled intently at the back of his head until he entered the feasting hall, then at the heavy oak doors once the guards closed them behind him, until the sound of hooves on cobblestones brought her back to herself.

Fyrwen approached on her chestnut courser, clad in her best ceremonial armour, accompanied by Cael & Bronwyn on their mounts. They were followed by two guardsmen leading a team of four black horses pulling an open carriage, on which lay the body of the slain king, surrounded by white chrysanthemums. Andúril lay across his body, the hilt upon his chest & the Crown of Gondor once again rested on his brow. Sorrow settled upon Elália like a dead weight as she looked at her brother, biting her lip to keep from crying. Behind came another team of horses bearing the Royal carriage, then Elália’s councillors, attendants & members of the nobility. After were the remaining members of the Household Guard, all in dress armour & mounted in rows of four. Lastly, came those smallfolk who were not yet too afraid to leave their homes, some ahorse, but mainly on foot. The carriage drew to a stop in front of the Queen & the driver dismounted to open the door for her. Elália climbed in on shaky legs, grateful for the solitude as the door closed behind her. She stared blankly out the window as the procession made it’s way slowly out of the White City through Fen Hollen & along Rath Dinen to the Houses of the Dead, focusing on the passing scenery to distract herself from the reality of the situation.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally halted outside the Tomb of the Kings, the driver opening the door & helping Elália from the carriage. The rest of the procession dismounted as she reluctantly moved to take her place at the head of the line that was forming along the concourse. The people of Gondor stood in silence whilst Fyrwen & three other soldiers acting as pallbearers lifted the King’s body from the carriage on a plinth & paused at the end of the approach, waiting for the Queen’s permission to continue. Elália nodded sadly & the bearers started forward. One of the smallfolk began to sing a dirge, the lament being picked up by others as they drew nearer the entrance. Once they had passed, Elália followed them into the cold hall, Bronwyn & Cael close behind her, along with the other guests. Fyrwen & the soldiers lowered her brothers body reverently into an ornate stone sarcophagus, Elália noticing with surprise that the lid had already been carved with his likeness: Cael must have had the masons working all night.

Everyone fell neatly into rows behind her, Fyrwen taking her place at the Queen’s right hand side. Cael said a few words about how her brother had been a great man & would have been an even better king, had he not been taken from them so soon, praising his bravery & generosity. Elália barely heard them, her head filled with evil whispers calling her a traitor & a wicked whore for capitulating to his killer. When Cael was done speaking, he motioned for Elália to come forward, to deliver a eulogy she had had no time to prepare.

Tentatively, she stepped forward to stand beside Allela’s coffin & ran her hand softly over his cold cheek. With tears in her eyes, she began to speak. “King Allela… My brother was…” Elália paused, trying to think of something to say. “Well, to you, he was your prince & briefly, your King. A fair & courageous man. But to me, he was simply Allela. The boy I grew up with who always knew how to make his little sister laugh. The youth who would sneak out of our halls with me to explore the city at night. The man who always made time for me even though he was heir to the throne. My friend & confidant. Allela was the leader that Gondor deserves. He will be missed deeply by his people. And by me most of all.”

Elália wiped her eyes as she returned to her place beside Fyrwen, noticing the usually-stoic Captain’s cheeks were wet with tears. To her shock, the redhead began to weep openly as Cael delivered the final blessing. Solemnly removing Allela’s sword, he handed Andúril to one of the bearers, who carefully wrapped the sword in black cloth bearing the symbol of the White Tree. Another approached with a cushion of deep red velvet, upon which he set the Crown of Gondor. Both soldiers then knelt before Elália, presenting the new Queen with the heirlooms of her house. Elália thanked them tonelessly & motioned for them to follow her from the hall. Still sobbing, Fyrwen pushed by her, all but sprinting from the room. Elália tried to follow, but found herself caught up amongst the crowd as they sought to offer her their condolences.

Finally making it outside, Elália found the soldier sitting slumped against a pillar halfway down the concourse. Fyrwen looked up at her with puffy eyes as she approached. “Forgive me, Your Grace.” She said hoarsely. “I know such conduct is unbecoming for a Captain of the Guard. It’s just, King Allela… I will miss him deeply too.”

Realisation suddenly dawned on Elália as the other woman got slowly to her feet. “Fyrwen?” she asked gently, “did you love my brother?”

“I did, Your Grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a bit slow with the updates. This chapter is pretty much just set-up for the next one, so you'll see why the last scene was important soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me such a long time to write the next chapter. This one is rather dark, so I'm expecting it to be a little polarising! I may do a bonus re-write of this one from Thranduil's PoV after I finish the story.

Upon her return, Elália was met immediately by one of Thranduil’s guard, a red-haired elleth who looked at her with sympathy as she told Elália that the Elvenking awaited her presence in the Council chamber. Elália regarded the messenger with disbelief. Did he really lack all common decency? In a temper, she snatched the crown of Gondor from the guardsman still bearing it on its red pillow, exchanging it for her circlet & stormed off towards the Tower of Ecthelion, Fyrwen & her advisors following close behind.

Elália threw open the doors to the Council chamber to find Thranduil seated at the head of the table, feet up on the surface & wine goblet in hand. He raised an eyebrow incredulously as doors slammed into the stone wall. “Elália! Good of you to join us.”

“King Thranduil.” Elália fought to control her rage as she approached him, “Surely this could have waited until tomorrow?”

“I am not at your beck & call, little Princess.” he told her in a tone so deliberately measured, it chilled her to the bone.

“And I am not at yours!”, Elália retorted, turning to leave. With a dry laugh, the Elvenking motioned to his guards, two of whom moved to bar her path, whilst a third closed the doors. Behind her, Elália heard Fyrwen curse.

“You may wish to re-think that statement, _muin nin_.” he called smugly. “And call off your dog, or I will put her down.” Elália turned back to find Fyrwen with her sword drawn  & hatred in her eyes. Had she more soldiers, Elália would have gladly have chosen to fight their way out of the chamber. Unfortunately, she had only her Captain & a few councillors. Elália’s hands balled into fists as she bade the woman to stand down.

“Much better. Now, sit.” he instructed her, indicating the seat next to him. Huffily, Elália did as she was told, wincing as her buttocks made contact with the hard wood of the chair. Thranduil smirked at her obvious discomfort. She grabbed the flagon of wine from the table, pouring herself a cup uninvited. To her surprise, the Elvenking did not rebuke her. Elália brought the chalice to her lips & drank deeply. “This will not take long, Elália. I see no point in drawing out that which serves no purpose. My terms are thus: I will return with my army to Mirkwood, on the condition that you bend the knee to me, publicly. You will call your councillors & nobles to the throne room & lay your sword at my feet. From then on, you will become my vassal. I will take fifty percent of your treasury with me & twenty percent of all future taxes & incomes. Understood?”

Elália gripped the goblet tightly between her hands. He had her backed into a corner & everyone in the room knew it, including Fyrwen, though Elália still heard her call the Elvenking’s parentage into question under her breath. She downed her wine & slammed the cup onto the table furiously. “Fine!” she snapped. “If that is what I must do to rid myself of your presence.” She turned to Cael. “Do as he asks & gather everyone within the hour. I wish to hasten King Thranduil’s departure.” With that, she rose, snatched up the flagon of wine & pushed past the elves guarding the door. Something in the furious gaze of the Elvenking told her she would regret that, but Elália felt too exhausted to care.

—————

Arriving at the entrance to the throne room with Andúril in hand & feeling somewhat dizzy from her stolen wine, Elália found Fyrwen outside, deep in hushed conversation with several members of the Household Guard. The soldiers broke apart as she approached, eyeing the Queen nervously. Before she had the chance to question them, the red-haired elf appeared in front of her, seeming genuinely embarrassed as she told Elália that the Elvenking was ready to accept her surrender.

Steeling herself, Elália motioned for her guards to open the doors. She swore under her breath, catching sight of Thranduil standing arrogantly on the highest level of the dais. She stomped angrily up the aisle, followed closely by Fyrwen & her men & threw the sword down at his feet in annoyance. “Not quite what I meant by laying your sword at my feet, Elália.” he said dryly. “No matter. Kneel before me like a good little girl & pledge your allegiance, as we discussed.” Resignedly, Elália began to dip her body towards the ground, when Fyrwen put a hand firmly on her shoulder.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” the Captain told her, as she stepped in front of Elália, “But I cannot let you do this. I loved Allela too much to allow his sister to kneel before the bastard who took him from me!” With that, she drew her sword & charged towards the Elvenking, the rest of the Guard following suit. Time seemed to slow down as Thranduil drew his blade, effortlessly striking Fyrwen’s head from her shoulders. Elália screamed in horror as he put his sword through the throat of a second soldier, pulling it free & sending crimson arching through the air. She put her hand to her face in shock, feeling the warm liquid splatter across her cheek. Thranduil spun effortlessly to cut down two more advancing men, fighting off his attackers with frightening ease. His guards did not even bother to move.

“Stop!” Elália screamed hysterically over & over. “Thranduil! Please!” Finally, when the last soldier lay dying at his feet, the Elvenking sheathed his sword.

He turned to her with fury in his eyes. “Our negotiations are over, Elália. Your city will burn for this insult. Make your peace with the Vallar, for death is coming for all of you.” He motioned for his guards & stormed towards the doors.

Elália ran after him in terror, the desperation in her voice clear. “Please don’t do this! It wasn’t my order, I swear!” She caught up with him & reached to grab his arm, but the Elvenking shoved her angrily away from him, causing her to fall painfully onto her side. Elália reached out her hand beseechingly to him as he walked away. “Please! Thranduil! I will do anything!” she wailed.

Thranduil paused in his step, looking back over his shoulder at the stricken Queen. “Anything?” he questioned.

“Anything you wish! Just please have mercy on my people!” she sobbed, all pretence of dignity now gone.

The Elvenking sighed heavily, turning to fully face her. “You do beg so sweetly, _muin_.” He walked slowly past her, back towards the throne. “I may yet spare you. But my terms have changed.” He ascended the dais, sitting upon the throne with calm deliberation, beckoning his guards to stand next to him. “Come here, Elália.” Relieved, she immediately made to stand, but Thranduil waved a finger at her forbiddingly. “No, Elália _muin_.”, he ordered her, “Crawl.” She looked at him in horror, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone in the room upon her. Thranduil’s expression remained unchanged, as he nonchalantly stroked the hilt of his sword. Reluctantly, Elália started forward on her hands  & knees, moving awkwardly in her long gown as the fabric caught around her legs. Her hand made contact with a sodden scarlet patch on the carpet, causing her to halt her slow progress & retch dryly at the sight of the dead man before her, his torso cut almost clean in half.

Elália held down her sickness, turning too quickly to move around the soldier, the fabric of the dress entangling her legs & causing her to go sprawling onto her front. She awkwardly pushed herself back up, as Thranduil tutted loudly from the throne. “I tire of this, Elália.” He told her dispassionately. “If that gown is such a hinderance, I will have it removed.” He gestured to one of his guards. The ellon hesitated briefly, clearly uncomfortable with his King’s behaviour, before moving resignedly towards Elália & looking back at the Elvenking for confirmation. At Thranduil’s nod, he drew his sword & with an apologetic glance at the Queen of Gondor, slid the blade beneath the back of her dress. He sliced clean through the entire length, so that it fell completely from her body, leaving Elália in only her short underskirt.

Thranduil snapped his fingers impatiently & pointed to the floor in front of the throne. Feeling helplessly exposed, Elália slunk towards him with her head dipped low, not wanting to meet the eyes of those who watched with pity. She fought back the bile that rose in her stomach as her skin made contact with the freshly spilled blood of the former Captain upon the red-stained steps. Coming to a stop in front of the Elvenking, Elália sat back into a kneeling position & stared down at the floor. “Look at me, Elália.” he ordered her. Cautiously, she met his icy gaze. “As I said, my terms have altered. In light of this incident, it is clear you are not fit to rule, since you cannot even ensure the obedience of your own military. I will spare your… _people_ , but Gondor will no longer retain its sovereignty. From now on, this realm is under my command. You will no longer be Queen, Elália. Do you consent?”

Elália’s heart sank. She knew she had no choice, but the thought of dissolving all that her Grandfather had worked so hard to build was devastating. Bitter tears began to flow as she nodded grudgingly, “If that is what it takes, so be it.”

The Elvenking smirked as he reached down & removed the crown from her head. “You won’t be needing this, _muin_.” he told her smugly, handing his circlet to the elf next to him  & setting the Crown of Gondor atop his head.

Elália glowered at his audacity. “Are we done?” she asked angrily.

Thranduil looked down at her, clearly annoyed with her reaction. “Almost. I have one more condition, _brat_.” he snapped. “I can’t very well have you running around unchecked. You seem the type who would risk an insurgency. So you will submit yourself to me, Elália. You will be mine, to use as I please, as often as I desire.”

She looked at him aghast. “You cannot be fucking serious!” Elália exclaimed. Shocked gasps rang around the room. Even Thranduil’s guards appeared stunned.

“But I am, Elália,” he informed her. “A collar will suit you much better than a crown, _muin nin_. And you would do well to address me with more respect in future. Now slut, who do you belong to?” he questioned her.

“You, my King.” she whispered, defeated.

Thranduil reached into his robes & pulled out his erection. “Prove it.” he commanded her, gesturing to his lap. Hesitantly, Elália moved her lips to him. “Just like I taught you last night, pet.” he added cruelly. More gasps broke out, louder this time as the words sank in. Elália felt accusing eyes glaring at her back as she took him into her mouth, her humiliation complete.

He didn’t grab her hair as he had before, but rather sat perfectly still, his hands upon the arms of the throne. Elália knew then that his intention was to make her bring the discomfort of his request onto herself. Fearfully, she lowered her head further, feeling him at the back of her mouth. She gagged as she pushed determinedly downwards, trying to focus on remembering to breathe through her nose as the tip of him entered her throat. Above her, Thrandruil hissed under his breath as she slowly moved further down his shaft.

Elália gagged again, panic getting the better of her. She instinctively went to withdraw from him as she neared the base of his cock, before she managed to control her breathing & press downward again. Hearing an oh-so-faint sigh from the Elvenking, she repeated the motion deliberately, continuing to take him further into her throat, trying to force another loss of control. Once his full length was inside of her, she flicked her tongue out past her lips, running it quickly & repeatedly over the soft flesh of his balls. She heard him gasp in surprised pleasure, before he moaned aloud, spilling into her.

Slowly, Elália raised her head, satisfied to see that his knuckles had turned pale where they gripped the throne. If he was determined to disgrace her publicly, she was pleased to make him lose his all-important composure & poise. Noticing a small trickle of white, she dutifully moved to lick it up, catching Thranduil’s gaze as she lapped at his cum. “Fucking _slut_!” he groaned softly, as she finished her work  & sat back onto her heels, staring up at him defiantly.

“Very good, Elália.” the Elvenking told his prize. “I have no doubt that with the right training & proper correction, you will make a fine plaything for me.” He looked down disdainfully at the dishevelled former Queen, her hands & knees stained with red. “Now be a good pet, return to your quarters & clean yourself up for your new Master. I am not done with you yet, _muin nin._ ”

Elália turned & ran from the throne room, hands covering her breasts as the nobility of Gondor gaped in stunned silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took ages to write, as it is supposed to feel deliberately uncomfortable, rather than erotic. The oral sex scene is more of an illustration of the power dynamic between Tranduil & Elália: they both know who is in charge, but that doesn't mean she will make things easy for him. Which as most brats know, will ultimately end up making things worse for herself...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter is a short reflection on the previous one from Thranduil's PoV. I may expand or edit it later.

Thranduil watched her leave, a twisted smile upon his lips. Her recalcitrance really was most infuriating & yet it was that which made him enjoy her so much. He would be almost sad when he finally broke her, but he was determined to make her fully his: he would not repeat the same mistake he made with Eowéniel. 

He thought back to their first meeting, when she had been brought before him to sing at the Midsummer Feast, her reputation as the most beautiful voice in all of Mirkwood proceeding her. Afterwards, finding her face as fair as her songs, he had invited her to join him at his table, where he had plied her with wine as he attempted to seduce her. Normally any elleth he set his sights upon fell into his bed immediately, often at a single glance. Consequently, Thranduil tended to tire of them quickly. Eowéniel was the first woman in a long time to resist him. Not since his courtship of his beloved wife had he met an Elleth who hadn’t been instantly enraptured by his charms. Intrigued by the young songstress, he began to request her to sing for him regularly, always insisting that she join him after. Over time, they had grown friendly, though she continued to frustrate him.

One evening, Eowéniel had not come to him as requested. He recalled how annoyed he had felt as he sent his servants looking for her, only to be told she was in the House of Healing. He found her lying pale, suffering from the venom of a spider bite, after she had been attacked whilst gathering berries in the forest. Realising at that moment that he was unable to stand the thought of losing her, he ordered the healers to save her life at any cost, before riding out into the forest & single-handedly destroying the first next of spiders he came across. Following Eowéniel’s recovery, he had insisted upon teaching her how fight, gifting her with Gilgalad to protect herself. Thranduil smirked, wondering if her daughter knew of the sword’s origin.

With the passing years, he had fallen deeper in love with her, as they continued to become closer. Whispers around the Woodland Realm told that Eowéniel would one day become Thranduil’s Queen. Even Legolas had warmed to her, pleased to see his father finally becoming happy again, so many long centuries after his mother was taken from them. And then a Royal visit from Gondor had ruined everything.

Returning to the present, he rose & ordered the mess in the throne room cleaned up. _Foolish humans_ , he thought to himself, as he picked his way around the fallen Gondorian soldiers. It had not been his intention for things to go this far, but once attacked what could he do? His intent had simply been to insist Elália pledge herself to him, thus ensuring the obedience of Gondor & securing her for his own. He had not counted upon the love that her people bore for their Royal family. If he understood one thing, it was that it was better for a ruler to be feared than loved. If he was to heed Elália’s pleas for mercy in light of her people’s actions, then he had to make sure they would never again dare to cross him. Tearing down their Princess & exposing her for the whore that she truly was had killed two birds with one stone: he doubted the people of Minas Tirith would be quite so willing to rise up against him for a fallen slut who sucked the cock of their conqueror for all to see. Yet still, even then she had sought to fight him. He felt certain she had no genuine desire to please him: a loss of restraint was almost certainly her only goal.

He found Elália utterly maddening. She looked so like her mother & had certainly inherited Eowéniel’s stubbornness, though she lacked her demure nature: Eowéniel would never have dared to address him with the disrespect her daughter did, even though he had little leverage over her, save to demand her time. On the other hand, Elália was completely at his mercy, yet still she tried to defy him, despite her obvious desire. Definitely the fault of her human heritage. No matter, he thought. He was relishing putting her in her place & her response to him had been even more exquisite than he could have hoped. The girl clearly had a submissive nature, in spite of her protestations: if she would not be by his side, he would make sure she was at his feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to let you all know I'm working on the next chapter. Been ridiculously busy lately. I also have no internet at home at the moment, so I'm going to have to try & figure something out when it's ready to post.


	9. Chapter 9

Elália shoved her way past wide-eyed guards & attendants as she sprinted back to her rooms, unable to look any of them in the eye. Slamming the doors tightly shut behind her, she immediately went to lock them, but found the key missing. _Bastard must have taken it_ , she realised. She looked wildly around the room for something to bar the doors, before giving up. Even if she could manage to keep him from breaking them down, she would have to leave her chambers at some point & she had already seen what an enraged Thranduil was capable of. Looking down at her blood-stained hands & noticing they had left crimson smears across her chest, Elália sprinted to her privy as nausea overtook her.

When she emerged sometime later, she was disheartened to find the Elvenking seated in her bath, casually examining the bottles of lotions & oils lined up along the side as he sipped his wine. His eyes narrowed as Elália approached. “I thought I asked you to do something for me, _iell_?” he asked menacingly.

Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, Elália fought back her revulsion. “I did not expect you so soon.” she replied flippantly.

“I did not expect you so soon, _My King_.” Thranduil corrected her. He patted the side of the bath next to him, indicating for her to join him. “And from now on, whenever I tell you to do something, you are do to it immediately. Understood?” he asked as she stripped off her underskirt.

“Yes, My King.” Elália replied through gritted teeth. Pulling her braid loose & removing the heavy bracelets from her wrists, she set them down on the marble countertop. She made her way over to the bath, stepping down into the warm water. Faint trails of red ran from her hands & faded as Elália moved across the pool to take a seat next to the Elvenking, leaving as much distance as she could get away with. Once seated, the water reached almost to her neck, cleansing the last of the blood from her chest. Elália watched it disappear, a lump in her throat as she replayed the horror of the throne room in her mind.

Thranduil closed the distance between them, moving a hand behind Elália’s head to grasp her hair tightly by the roots. He cupped a small amount of water in his other hand, reaching up to wash the dried crimson stain from her cheek. Elália flinched at the contact, trying uselessly to turn her face away from him. “You forget yourself, pet.” Thranduil informed her warningly. “You belong to me now.”

Elália glared at him in disgust. “That does not mean I must be pleased about it.”

“I do not require you to be pleased, Elália. I require you to be obedient.” he said icily. “Now do something about the state of your hair. It is a mess.” Elália instinctively raised a hand to touch her hair. Pulling a few tangled pieces in front of her face to inspect, she was sickened to find specks of dried blood clinging here & there to the strands. She immediately dipped her head backwards into the water, forcing her chest upwards. Thranduil eyed her breasts unapologetically whilst she worked her fingers through the knots. With a scowl, she rose & reached for a bottle of soap, working it through her hair with her back to the Elvenking. She chose to rinse it off by ducking entirely beneath the water, so as not to provide him with another unnecessary display.

To her surprise, once she rose, Thranduil handed her a cup of wine. Elália eyed him suspiciously as she took it, before drinking deeply. Moving back to the edge of the bath, she set the goblet down & reached for a bottle of oil to soften her hair. Realising she would need to stand to deal with the full extent of her tresses, Elália turned her back to Thranduil as she rose. Smoothing the liquid through the limp platinum, she could feel his cold stare upon her body. “Your backside looks sore, my pet.” he observed mockingly. Elália opted not to dignify him with a response. When she was done, she made to step further into the bath once again to rinse away the excess. Before she could do so, she felt strong fingers curl around her upper arm & an insistent tug upon her hair. Elália tensed in protest, refusing to move. “Elália.” Thranduil sighed. “Do not try my patience.”

He pulled her slowly over to him, sitting her upon his lap. He guided her head backwards into the water, exposing her bust to him. She glared at him furiously as he ran his hand through her hair. In response, Thranduil lent down & bit her hard on the nipple, eliciting an indignant squeak from Elália, who raised her hands to push him away. The Elvenking released her hair, snatching her wrists instead. “You swore before all of Gondor that you were mine to use as I please, _muin_ _nin_.” he reminded her, transferring both of her wrists into one hand. He reached between her legs with the other. She tried to push her thighs together to deny him access, but he easily forced them apart. “I can give you pleasure…” he pushed two fingers inside her, running his thumb over her clit  & coaxing a soft moan from her. “…Or pain.” He withdrew his fingers from her & brought them to meet his thumb, twisting her sadistically until she cried out.

“You left me little choice!” Elália snapped. “You know that was not what we agreed upon & you had just slaughtered all of my fucking guards!”

“You speak of choices, _muin nin_. Tell me, what choice did I have, once your men attacked? Was I to simply stand there  & allow myself to be killed?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“Sounds good to me!” she retorted.

“And what then, Elália? My presence here is the only thing keeping this city from being put to the sword. You should be thanking me, _muin_. If that foolish woman had succeeded with her little plan, Gondor would shortly become little more than a footnote on the page of history.” the Elvenking lectured her. “And I don’t care for your attitude, pet. It seems you still have yet to learn respect for your master.” He sighed thoughtfully. "Perhaps, it is because I haven’t claimed you… fully.” He moved a finger backwards to lightly stroke the skin around her anus.

Elália recoiled in shock at his touch. “No!” She squealed & tried to wrench herself free of his grasp, but he only tightened his grip around her wrists in response.

“Yes, Elália.” he purred. “I will have your pretty little arse. But the manner in which I take it is up to you. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I do not recommend you challenge me on this, _muin_. But if you cooperate, I will try to make this as easy on you as possible. Now I strongly suggest you turn around  & bend over the side of the bath.”

Elália glared at him hatefully. As much as the idea of submitting to him willingly rankled her right now, she knew she did not want to find out what ‘the hard way’ meant. She nodded meekly, looking away from him. Thranduil released her wrists & she immediately grabbed her wine & downed the remnant. “You’ve already done it metaphorically.” she said bitterly. “You may as well do it literally.”

Turning to kneel upon the stone seat than ran around the edge of the bath, she snatched up Thranduil’s cup & finished that too. He slapped her hard across the rear in response. “I would have given you more wine if you had asked, pet. I am aware you must be… nervous.” _That doesn’t begin to cover it_. Elália thought, as she pressed her body to the cold tiles. She was determined not to show her fear to the Elvenking, but it had hurt her enough when he had her the night before. She did not know how he could expect to fit himself _there_.

Thranduil rose & moved behind her. In the corner of her eye, Elália saw him reach for something. A moment later, she felt something drip onto her anus. She held her breath & braced herself, expecting to feel him force himself into her, but instead he trailed just a finger around the hole, before gently pushing the tip inside of her. Elália exhaled in relief, satisfied that he meant to keep his promise, as he slowly moved his finger up to the knuckle. She would never have called the feeling pleasant, but it bought her no discomfort either. He moved his finger back & forth within her, getting her used to the sensation, then switched to moving it in gradually broadening circles, stretching her as much as possible, before pushing a second finger into her. Elália winced & tensed, not enjoying the extra fullness.

He worked her in the same manner as before, pulling his fingers a little more apart as he progressed, until he judged she was sufficiently ready for him. He withdrew his fingers from her then & Elália felt more oil spill on to her. Placing a hand upon her hip to hold her in place, he pushed his tip inside of her. Even though he had done his best to prepare her, it was still quite painful. Elália whimpered as he began to ease further into her, fearing her hole would tear from the width of him. “Fuck, you’re tight!” he growled, pushing deeper. She squirmed uncomfortably, trying futilely to find more space inside of her. Thranduil moved his other hand to push down on the small of her back, pinning her to the floor. “Be still Elália, or you are likely to injure yourself.”

He continued his slow progress, stretching her now beyond where his fingers had reached. Elália instinctively clenched herself against the discomfort. Thranduil gasped in pleasure. “Fuuuck, Elália!” He moaned, “Oh fuck, that’s good _muin nin!_ But you should try to relax.” he advised her. “This will be more comfortable for you if don’t fight it.” Struggling against her natural instincts, Elália relaxed herself, biting her lip as he finished pushing into her with a groan. “How does my big cock feel in your poor little arse, pet?” he taunted her, beginning to move his hips back  & forth. Elália whimpered again in response. Thranduil increased his pace. “Do you like me fucking you like this, slut?”

“No!” Elália cried. He began withdrawing further from her each time, hissing as he thrust back into her.

“Who do you belong to, you little whore?” he snarled.

“You, Master!’ she wailed, as he shoved into her with full strength, no longer caring for her comfort.

“Yes, Elália!” he groaned as she felt his cum start to fill her. “You. Are. Fucking. Mine!” He slammed into her brutally on each word, making her scream out. When he was spent, he withdrew & moved his hand from her hip to softly brush her damp hair away from her face, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Don’t forget it again, _muin_.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of strong language...

Elália climbed from the pool on shaky legs, Thranduil following close behind her. She stumbled & fell backwards upon the last step, the vast amount of wine she had consumed that day finally catching up with her. The Elvenking sighed, effortlessly catching her around her slender waist. Taking hold of her arm, he steered her towards the bedroom & sat her down on the edge of the bed.

He left her there briefly, returning to the bathroom for towels. He threw one to Elália & dried himself down, watching as she clumsily did the same. Once she had finished, Elália dropped the towel on the floor, drew her legs up onto the bed & sat watching him warily as he moved around the room, extinguishing all candles but for the one on the nightstand nearest her. Discarding his towel to a nearby chair, he walked across to the other side of the bed & settled himself next to her.

Elália pulled her knees up to chest & huddled over, looking at him with exhaustion in her eyes. She did not think she could withstand any more of the his attention today. Thranduil regarded her with clinical detachment: she was clearly drunk & looked extremely weak. He doubted she had been eating properly. He would have to remedy that: his new toy would be no fun to play with if she was in poor condition. “Sleep now, my pet.” he commanded her, climbing beneath the covers himself.

“You mean to sleep here?… My King?” She asked fearfully.

“Yes, Elália. You must think me a fool if you think I would leave you unsupervised.” With a sigh of resignation, Elália blew out the remaining candle & pulled the blankets over herself. She opted to curl up in a ball with her back to the Elvenking, as close to the edge of the bed as possible. She lay staring into the darkness for what seemed like hours before her eyelids grew heavy & she fell into a fitful sleep.

—————

Elália was dimly aware that something felt different as she drifted back to consciousness. The surface beneath her was not the usual softness of her pillows & featherbed, but rather felt much firmer & oddly cool, yet strangely comforting. She dozily ran her fingers across it as her eyes blinked open in the early morning light, her mind still a little foggy from last night’s wine. _Last night!_ Snapping fully awake, Elália was stricken with self-loathing as she realised she was lying sprawled across Thranduil’s chest. Her leg draped over him  & his arm encircled her back, his hand cupping her bottom possessively. Slowly, she set about trying to extricate herself before the Elvenking awoke, but then realised that he had once again entangled his fist in her hair. She moved her hand uncertainly to try & work it free. 

“Good morning, Elália.” He pulled her head backwards from where it rested upon his shoulder, forcing her eyes to meet his smirking face.

“King Thranduil.” Elália replied in a clipped tone, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping over her cheeks. 

“Good of you to finally wake up.”

“You mean…” she started, her face reddening further.

“Yes, _muin nin_.” His smirk intensified. “I have been awake for some time now.”

“I… Well, I _happen_ to be a restless sleeper.” She said sheepishly, trying again to pull away.

“Hmm…” He increased his grip on her arse, digging painfully into the bruised skin. “A true warrior must always be ready for anything. As a result, I happen to sleep very lightly & could not rest until you were still. Indeed, you do tend to move an annoying amount, pet. I was considering tying you down at one point. But then you fell across me & once I took hold of you, you were finally still.”

“If that is even half true, then most like you forced me to stay in place!”

“No, _muin_. Once asleep, you needed no coercion to come to your Master. You may not be willing to admit your need for me, but deep down, you want to be mine, _slut_.”

“I _despise_ you!”

“Sometimes the line between what we fear & what we desire is as thin as a hair’s breadth, _muin nin_. You may claim to hate the way I treat you, but you _need_ to be controlled. I could tell from the moment you first looked at me.”

“Never!” Elália hissed angrily.

“Please.” he scoffed, flipping her onto her back & pinning her wrists beneath him. “You want me, Elália. You want _this_.” She felt his hardness against her already dampening pussy as he forced a ferocious kiss upon her.

“I don’t!” She cried in desperation, allowing him to kick her legs apart all too easily.

“Really, pet? Then why are you so fucking wet, my little whore?” He drew back, ready to plunge into her once she gave the inevitable answer. 

A loud knock came at the doors. “Come in!” Elália shouted, relieved at the interruption.

With a growl of frustration, Thranduil rolled off of her & sat up. She heard his voice in her mind as the doors opened: _I give the orders around here, muin nin. You will be punished for this._ A chill ran down Elália’s spine as Bronwyn bustled into the room, holding a tray of ribbons, combs  & brushes. She stopped short at the sight of the half-uncovered Elvenking. Behind her, Elália could see two serving girls peering nervously around the door as she pushed herself upright. “What do you want?” Thranduil snapped at her.

Bronwyn glared at him. “I am Queen Elália’s handmaiden. I’m here to do the same thing I do every morning: help Her Grace to dress for the day.”

“ _Lady_ Elália is perfectly capable of dressing herself. If you wish to make yourself useful, bring her something to eat. And I am your King. You will address me as such in future, servant.”

“You are no King of mine.” Bronwyn muttered. “I would sooner die than take orders from the likes of you.”

Thranduil looked down his nose at her. “Hold your tongue woman, or I shall put that to the test.”

Something in his voice terrified Elália. “Bronwyn! Please, just do as he asks!”

The handmaiden set the tray down on the nightstand next to Elália & curtsied towards her. “If that is what _my Queen_ wishes, it will be done.” She hurried from the room before Thranduil could reply, leaving him oddly stuck for words. Elália laughed silently to herself as the doors banged shut. Unfortunately, she was a bit too slow to conceal her smile from the Elvenking.

“Is something amusing, pet?” he asked threateningly.

“No, King Thranduil.” Elália stifled a giggle, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“Do not lie to me, Elália. You are not very good at it.” He pulled her suddenly across his lap, holding her tightly in place with an arm across her back. “Now I’m going to have to spank you twice as hard as I had planned.” He stretched to the side, selecting the largest of the brushes from the discarded tray. “I think this will do.” He struck her violently across the centre of her cheeks. Elália mewled, her back arching from the sting. Thranduil laughed. “Yes. This will most definitely do!” He began to hit her rapidly, not holding back any of his strength. Elália cried in anguish & kicked her legs, trying futilely to free herself as the blows rained down upon her. 

“Stop! It hurts!” she squealed. 

“That would be the point, Elália. And that sounded like another order, _muin nin_.”

“I’m sorry, King Thranduil! Please stop! Please!” He ignored her, beating her pitilessly, his stiff cock digging into her belly. Elália began to weep, her backside on fire. The will to fight deserted her & she stopped struggling & lay still, her nails digging into the sheets.

“Better, Elália.” he told her, slowing his pace. “You are learning.” He ran his hand over her throbbing rump. “Mmm… your cute little arse is practically burning. So tell me, my little brat,” he struck her viciously with the flat of his hand, “have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, King Thranduil.” she whispered.

“I am pleased to hear it.” He pushed her legs open, bringing his hand down sharply between them. Elália gasped at the sudden contact. “Why, pet! The only thing hotter than your bottom seems to be your cunt.” He rubbed his hand over her wetness. Elália couldn’t help but sigh delightedly at the stimulation, hating the way he could do this to her. He pushed his fingers into her, finding her sweet spot instantly. Elália moaned wantonly, feeling herself rapidly approaching climax. “Are you about to come for your Master, slut?” he asked, his tone cold & detached.

“Yes! Oh fuck, yes!” Elália whimpered, the tension almost too much to bear.

“Incorrect, _muin nin_.” He pulled his hand from her, slapping her hard across her over-sensitive sex. Elália screamed angrily as the Elvenking laughed at her. “That will teach you to frustrate me!”

“I hate you!”

“I know.” He pushed her off of him. “I suppose that awful servant of yours will be here soon. I will make certain that you have eaten something. After that, I must speak with my guards. You are to pack those possessions that are important to you during my absence. Do not even think of coming without my permission whilst I am gone, pet. I will know. And I will personally see to it that you shall have no gratification for a month if you defy me.”

“Pack my things?!” Elália asked worriedly. “Why should I need to do that?”

“If you will recall Elália, I have a realm to rule. And if I stay here, I am a target for any who would object to their new King. Better to leave some of my forces to secure this city & govern from a distance. And I think it best to remove you from the sway of those who would seek to encourage you to disobey me. I will be returning home today & you will be accompanying me.”

“But Gondor is the only home I have ever known!”

“You should be amongst your own kind. You do not belong among men, Elália. It is their influence that has made you so wilful.”

“But I am not fully an elf.”

“You have little of the blood of men in you: do not forget that although the line may have diluted over the centuries, the Dunedin nonetheless descended from elves. And your grandmother was the Evenstar, was she not?”

“I suppose that is true.” She admitted.

Thranduil smirked. He had forgotten that delicious scrap of information until now. _The great granddaughter of Elrond Halfelven_. There had certainly been no love lost between the two of them. He almost wished his old rival had not departed for the Undying Lands. It would have been sweet to behold the look upon his face when he learned of his descendant’s fate. Thranduil’s eyes shot wide open, a sudden realisation upon him: perhaps his little pet was more valuable than he had thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really wish I could draw, as I would love to illustrate the moment Elália wakes up & realises where she is...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a week? *Sound of readers fainting in shock*. I'm not very well at the moment, so I'm laid up indoors on a ton of antibiotics. I may even post another chapter at this rate!

Elália stood forlorn in the middle of her bedchamber, an open, empty trunk upon her bed. She had dressed herself in simple black leggings with an embroidered velvet bustier of pale pink & long black boots for the ride to the Woodland Realm. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders. She had made several clumsy attempts to fasten it into an intricate braid, as she had seen Bronwyn do for her each morning, before giving up. The offending brush, the same one the Elvenking had used to chastise her, lay flung across the room, noticeably cracked from its swift introduction to the stone wall. With her family gone, her whole life was contained within these halls. How could he expect her to select just a fraction of it to take to a strange land?

She looked around sharply at the sound of the doors creaking open behind her, expecting to see Thranduil, full of wrath with her for not having completed her task, but instead found the red-haired elleth. “Forgive me Lady Elália, but the doors were ajar.”

Elália nodded. “What does he want now?” she sighed.

“Nothing.” the elleth told her, a note of sympathy in her voice. “He sent me to assist you.”

“What of my own servants? Does he deem them incapable?”

The elleth regarded her for a moment before answering. “No my Lady, merely untrustworthy. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but he has dismissed them all from his service.” Elália clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. Bronwyn had been with her family for almost fifty years & most of her younger servants came from poor backgrounds, relying upon the generous pay of the crown to feed their families. “And I am no servant.” the elleth continued, “I am the captain of King Thranduil’s guard.” She held out a hand to Elália in a gesture of friendship. “My name is Tauriel.” Elália slowly relaxed her fists & shook Tauriel’s hand warily. 

The irony of this revelation so soon after the loss of Fyrwen was not lost upon her. Elália hoped Tauriel’s sake that this red-headed captain was less reckless than her own had been, seeing blood upon the throne room floor in her mind. With a great deal of effort, she pushed the thought from her head. “Why did he send his captain, if you are so highly ranked?” she questioned.

“The other guards he brought with him are all male, my lady. Perhaps he felt you would rather not have some ellon watching you go through your smallclothes?”

The corner of Elália’s mouth twitched at this. “It is unlike him to show such consideration.” She walked determinedly into her dressing room & stared in exasperation at the rows of garments, before randomly starting to grab clothes from the racks, throwing them to the waiting Tauriel, who in turn aimed them at the bed. When she had gathered what she thought was a suitable amount of attire, she moved onto her shoes, scooping up two armfuls of pairs & depositing them in the bottom of the trunk. Elália returned to collect several slips & underskirts from a drawer, carrying the neatly folded bundle through to the bedroom & placing it haphazardly on top of the footwear. She made one final trip to carry through the light mythril armour that had once been her mother’s, packing it carefully.

Tauriel sighed heavily as the two of them began folding clothes. “King Thranduil has never been one for sentiment. He has a cold demeanour & there is more than a touch of darkness in him, but he is nonetheless a good King. However I must admit that the way he has treated you is unusual, even for him. I fear he may be lashing out in his grief.”

“I have lost people too!” Elália replied. “He has taken everything from me! My parents, my brother, my crown, my…“ She stopped mid sentence, fresh shame washing over her. “And now he proposes to take me from my home. Why must he do this to me?”

Tauriel paused in her folding, hearing the word Elália had left unsaid. She looked closely at the young half-elf. “Perhaps, it is because you are so much like her.” She said slowly. “Your mother, I mean.”

Elália dropped the dress she was holding. “You knew my mother?” she asked, surprised.

“I did my lady, although not as well as I would have liked. But you are almost the perfect image of her. Not just your face, but the way you move & carry yourself. Even the tone of your voice is alike. Perhaps this is why he has become so fixated upon you.”

“You speak out of turn, Tauriel.” a deep voice called from the doorway. They both turned with a start to see the Elvenking. In his hand he carried a torch, despite the fact it was early in the morning & the halls were well-lit. One of his guards stood behind him, holding something Elália couldn’t quite see.

“Apologies, my King!” Tauriel said contritely, dropping to one knee as she did so. “It will not happen again.”

“No, it will not.” Thranduil told her, as he moved elegantly across the room. He paused in front of the hearth & lit a fire. Elália looked at him curiously. It was high summer in Gondor & the room was already warm, even at this hour. He moved over to Elália, running his fingers slowly through her hair. “Now that Lady Elália is to join us in my halls, I would have her look the part.” He spoke as though she wasn’t even there. Behind him, the guard placed something into the fireplace. “Never have I seen a Sinda with these… _curls_.” He said with obvious distain. “I will not present her to our people looking like this. See to it that they are ironed flat, so that she looks a proper elleth.”

 _Looks more like Eowéniel, you mean_. Tauriel thought. “Yes, my King.” she said hesitantly, glancing over at Elália as she did so. The blonde looked furious. Tauriel willed her silently to keep quiet. Elália would need to pick her battles if she was going to get through this.

Elália’s nails dug into her own flesh once again. Must he strip her of her identity as well? A guard bearing a cup of wine for the King appeared at the door. Thranduil took it & dismissed both ellons to the hall, before positioning himself upon Elália’s chaise. She fought to hold her temper in check. Her curls were a part of who she was. But then she supposed, they would come back the next time she washed her hair. She knew he was unlikely to change his mind: protesting would achieve her nothing & the change would be temporary at best. She contented herself with muttering a few choice vulgarities under her breath as she turned her back to the Elvenking & continued to fold clothing, whilst Tauriel fetched towels.

“My lady, if you would please…” Tauriel said quietly, feeling embarrassed. She indicated the long low table next to the chaise, which was unfortunately the only suitable surface in the room. Most likely why Thranduil had selected that particular vantage point. Elália threw the final dress into the trunk with more force than was strictly necessary & nodded a curt acknowledgement to her. Tauriel admired the way she kept her head high as she walked across the room & sat down gracefully upon the floor, leaning her head back against the surface of the table, her back to the King.

Tauriel placed a thick layer of towels down upon the table behind Elália, so as not to damage the polished wood, before gently fanning Elália’s hair over the surface. She retrieved the iron & covered a section of platinum curls with another towel. She softly pulled it straight beneath the fabric, before working the iron cautiously over the surface. She uncovered the now smooth hair before moving on the next section. Tauriel chanced a glance at her King. Thranduil’s gaze was focused upon the rise & fall of Elália’s breasts as the curve of her back forced them to heave against her bustier, his expression smug. She was grateful that Elália could not see him from her position. The former Queen sat in silence as Tauriel worked, her face deliberately blank & her eyes fixed resolutely upon a single point upon the ceiling.

When it was done, Tauriel touched Elália lightly on the shoulder, nodding slightly to her to indicate she could rise. Elália silently got to her feet & went immediately to her dresser. Save for the bruise upon her cheek, it may as well have been her mother staring back at her from the mirror. Her mother & Thranduil. He stroked his hand approvingly over her still-warm hair. “Definitely an improvement.” His other hand snaked beneath her bust, pulling her back against his chest. Elália resisted the urge to stamp on his foot. “I trust you are ready to depart?”

Elália looked at the dresser, where her jewellery case rested next to that of her mother’s. Allela had decided she should have it following Eowéniel’s death, but Elália had yet to open it. She had hoped to pack the gems secretly, before the Elvenking returned, fearful that he would take them from her. “Almost.” she whispered. Thranduil followed her gaze. He reached past her & opened the case that had belonged to her mother. He reached in & pulled a beautifully worked white gold ring, into which was set a pale gem that seemed to glimmer with a light of its own. He handed it to Elália, closing her palm around it. “Wear this today.” he commanded her.

“But why?” She looked at him confused. “My King?” she added quickly.

“Do as you are told, Elália.”

“Fine.” Elália slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her right hand. She closed the open lid & scooped up both boxes. Thranduil did not object as she placed them into the trunk & closed the lid.

Tauriel’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the jewel upon Elália’s hand. She had not seen that ring in over 30 years now. She was surprised to find Eowéniel had kept the King's token.

Elália picked up her mother’s circlet from its velvet cushion. She went to place it upon her head. Thranduil tutted, catching her wrist. “That is not appropriate, _muin_.” he scolded her, confiscating it. “Only a Queen should wear an adornment such as this.” He slipped the circlet into a pocket within his jewelled tunic.

Elália glowered as she retrieved her sword belt from where it hung, fastening Gilgalad about her waist. Thranduil looked at her doubtfully, though Elália also thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross his lips. “Do you even know how to use a sword, _iell_?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

Elália ignored the slight. “I have had some training. My mother believed strongly that I should be able to defend myself, although I must confess I am no expert. ” She laughed dryly. “I am certain you are quite safe from me, my King.”

“I’m sure that I am.” Thranduil smirked. “Did your mother ever happen to tell you how she got that sword?”

“No my King, she did not.” Truth be told, Eowéniel had seldom spoken of her life before her arrival in Minas Tirith, at least not with her daughter. “Why do you ask?”

“It matters not for now. It is a long tale, best reserved for when time is not of the essence.” He summoned the two guards from the hall, ordering them to take the trunk. “Now it is time for us to depart.” He looked over Elália’s outfit disapprovingly. “Although I do wish you had worn something a little more elegant, pet.”

Elália rolled her eyes. “With respect, _my King_ , it is somewhat difficult to ride in a gown.”

“You will not be riding, Elália. There is more than enough room for two on my mount.”

“But my horse-“

“Will be staying here.” he interrupted her.

Elália gritted her teeth. “King Thranduil, please. Will you not allow me this one thing?”

“You belong to me now, Elália. As does Gondor. And I would have its people see you that you are mine.”

“Please my King. Celegmir means much to me.”

Thranduil considered her. In truth, it was of little importance to him whether she kept the beast or not, yet he still wished to make one final statement to the people of the White City. He sighed heavily. “As ever, I find it hard to resist your begging, little pet. So I am willing to compromise. You _will_ ride out of this city with me. However, I will have your horse led with us. Once we form up with my host outside the walls, I will permit you to ride alongside me.”

“Thank you, my King.” Elália said grudgingly. Although she hated the idea of being paraded before her people as Thranduil’s prize, Celegmir was the last thing she had left to remind her of her father, now that she was to leave Gondor. Of course, she had better sense than to tell that to the Elvenking.

Thranduil turned to Tauriel. “Fetch Lady Elália’s horse & ready the others. We depart immediately.” Tauriel took her leave of them, nodding almost imperceptibly to Elália as she did so. The half-elf subtly returned the gesture.

Elália headed resignedly for the doors. As she neared them, Thranduil grabbed her from behind, spinning her around & pinning her to the wall. Elália’s mouth opened involuntarily to receive his rough kiss, her body still in desperate need of release. Seemingly with a great deal of effort, he removed his lips from hers. “You look so beautiful like this, _muin nin_.” he told her as he looked down at her, seeing the obvious need in her eyes. “Perhaps soon I will give you what your body so desperately desires.” He let go of her  & Elália began to regain her composure, her face once again colouring. _Stubborn girl._ He thought angrily. _Why will she not admit her want for me to herself?_ He strode from the room. “Come Elália.”

Taking one last wistful look around her bedchamber, Elália followed him down the corridor & out into the morning sun. Tauriel was waiting with the other members of Thranduil’s guard, who were already mounted. Two of them pulled the cart her brother’s body had been returned upon between them, now laden with Elália’s trunk, as well as smaller chests containing that which the Elvenking & his soldiers had brought into the city with them. 

Tauriel held the reins of both Celegmir & the great elk. She handed the King’s steed to him & the animal lowered itself automatically to the ground. Elália scratched Celegmir’s nose affectionately as she watched Thranduil mount. She felt somehow glad that Tauriel was attending to her horse. The elleth had a certain kindness about her.  “To me, Elália.” Thranduil ordered her. Reluctantly, she obeyed. He pulled her into his lap, sitting her sidesaddle, so that she was forced to hold onto him for support as the elk rose. Elália looked over Thranduil’s shoulder, her home slowly disappearing behind her as the small party made its way to the seventh level gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inner GoT fangirl was so tempted to have Elália say 'stick them with the pointy end' when Thranduil asks if she knows how to use a sword, lol!
> 
> I wasn't originally going to include Tauriel in the story, so I wasn't really thinking of the (honestly coincidental) resemblance between her & Fyrwen (who was actually inspired by the character of Lucil from FFX/FFX-2). However, once I decided to expand this into a full story & decided that everyone would be going to Mirkwood, I wanted to make sure Elália would have someone who might become a friend. I didn't really want to draft in another OC, so Tauriel seemed the logical choice. So I just decided to hang a lampshade on it & move on with the story.


	12. Chapter 12

They rode down at a brisk pace through the city, Elália’s unstable position meaning that she had to lean in close to Thranduil with one arm around his neck & the other upon his shoulder to keep from falling. Something he had no doubt engineered deliberately, she thought. She kept her face buried against his collarbone for much of the time, feeling too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone, although that was not the worst part.

The worst part was that Elália felt something oddly reassuring about the feel of his arms encompassing her as he held the reigns, her body pressed firmly against his. She had been raised a Princess, with her every need attended to & every important decision made for her. Her brother had known that he would become King since birth & had spent time mentally preparing himself for when that day came. Accepting that she would never wear the crown, Elália preferred to spend her days riding with the children of other noble houses & her nights attending feasts or hosting parties. Such activities were normal for a second child of royal birth & her parents had allowed her to indulge herself to her heart’s content. The most critical choice Elália had had to make before two days ago had probably been what to wear to the Royal Ball.

Responsibility was not something that came naturally to her & unexpectedly finding herself Queen with no time to adjust to the role had been overwhelming. Suddenly, an entire kingdom looked to her for guidance, the lives of thousands depending on her. As much as she hated Thranduil for forcing her to give up her crown, she was dismayed to admit to herself that in some way it was almost a relief to pass the weight of that burden to someone else.

Realising that she had unconsciously tightened her arms around the Elvenking, Elália hurriedly loosened them. She did not need to look up to know he would be smirking to himself. Like it or not, Elália knew there was a great deal of truth in what he had said this morning. Regardless of what she told him & tried to tell herself, Elália was definitely attracted to Thranduil, in spite of the way he treated her. Perhaps even because of it: nobody had ever told her anything but ‘yes’ her entire life.

Men had always been too intimidated by her status to pursue her & so Elália had remained a virgin until she had encountered Thranduil. Whilst she was aware that any reasonably well-matched noble would doubtless not refuse an invitation from the Princess of Gondor, Elália could not desire any man who lacked the confidence to make her his. She supposed that in time, she would end up wed to some prince or high noble of another land, once she happened to encounter someone who thought himself worthy of her: if a prospective partner could not believe that, why should she be expected to?

Elália recalled once having overheard her father posit the idea of offering her hand to Thranduil’s son, as a way of smoothing relations between Gondor & the Woodland Realm. Her mother had soon put a stop to that, by reminding him that the situation had arisen in the first place because they had chosen to follow their hearts: how could they then expect their daughter to marry for duty?

Still, when Legolas had arrived in Gondor four winters ago as an emissary for his father, bearing what turned out to be Thranduil’s final demand for Eowéniel to return to him, her parents had nonetheless made a point of introducing him to the young Princess. Her mother remembered the Prince fondly from her time at the Elvenking’s side & had to agree that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if the two of them were to hit it off. Elália had found him to be pleasant company, warm & kind, with an impish sense of humour. He was certainly handsome enough as well, yet there had been no spark of attraction between the two of them. 

His father on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. Elália had felt instantly drawn to Thranduil, even knowing that he was her enemy.  Despite her best efforts to remind herself of exactly who & what he was, she still found herself utterly unable to resist his advances. Indeed, the fact he kept making them, bringing her under his control every time, regardless of how much she struggled against him thrilled her in a way she could never have thought possible. Had they met under happier circumstances, without the bad blood that lay between them, Elália would have liked nothing more than to be his. But as things were, she felt both lust & revulsion in equal measure. He may have laid claim to her body, but she was determined he would never claim her heart. 

Elália was dragged from her reverie as they reached the first circle. Words tended to move faster than horses in the White City & an ever-thickening crowd had been gathering along the main streets as they descended the seven circles, rumours of what had transpired yesterday in the throne room having circulated amongst the smallfolk to varying degrees of accuracy. The watchers had stood a solemn vigil until now, but as they passed the Second Gate, a lone shout of ‘Hail Queen Elália!’ sounded from the crowd. Elália looked around in surprise as others here & there began to shout messages of support. Some went so far as to throw flowers as they passed. _Doubtless that will wipe the smirk off his face_ , she thought.

A few brave souls even chose to shout insults to the Elvenking, though she was unable to pinpoint them amongst the throng. Thranduil evidently was not able to either, instead choosing to answer them by forcing Elália’s head back into a powerful kiss, making his ownership clear. With her arms still wrapped around him, Elália had no way to resist. Murmurs spread through the crowd, new voices becoming audible over the shouts of Elália’s supporters. Cries of ‘traitorous bitch’ & ‘elvish slut’ rang out alongside the shouts of sympathy.Ahead of them, a scuffle broke out between the two opposing sides, as people began to throw more than flowers.

Thranduil quickened his pace as the scene turned progressively more ugly, content to let the humans fight amongst themselves: a city divided would not soon rise against him. The last vestiges of Elália’s garrison from the outer gate milled around the first circle uncertainly, not knowing whether to involve themselves or not, now that the city was under new rule. Thranduil intended to dismiss them once he opened the Great Gate & moved his own people into the city to keep the peace.

A stone whizzed across his vision, narrowly missing his face & instead striking Elália just behind her ear. She swore as a thin trickle of blood began to flow from the small wound. He reined up so fast, the two of them were almost thrown from the elk. He wheeled about to face in the direction the stone had come from. The crowd fell silent as he scooped up Elália & leapt from his mount, drawing his sword as soon as he set her on her feet.

Thranduil approached the frightened smallfolk with calm deliberation, his voice cold steel as he demanded the guilty party step forth. Elália ran over worriedly, somewhat surprised he cared enough to stop. “My King,” she said softly. “I beg you leave them be. It is only a scratch. It will heal.”

He looked at her dismissively. “You are mine alone Elália & yet someone else dares mark you. I will not stand for such an insult.” He waved his sword, indicating the group of people from which he judged the stone's trajectory to have begun. “Either the offender will identify himself, or be turned over by his peers. If not, all possible culprits will be punished equally.”

Almost immediately, a woman rushed forward from the crowd, an infant clutched to her breast. She pointed frantically at a stocky young man with unkempt black hair towards the centre of the crowd, his gaze fixed hatefully upon Elália. “He’s the one you want m’lord! The one that hurt poor Queen Elália.” She spat at the offender's feet. “I say chop his bloody hands off!”

Thranduil moved lightning fast, grabbing hold of the man by his clothing & throwing him to the ground in front of him. He looked to be seriously considering the woman’s idea. “Explain yourself.” He stared intimidatingly down at his target as the onlookers scattered to a safe distance.

The man glared defiantly up at the Elvenking. “It’s that whore who should be explaining herself to us! The last time I checked, plotting with your elf lover to remove your own family from power & put him on the throne of Gondor was treason!”

“Excuse me?!” Elália’s voice was a breathless squeak. “Why in Arda would you think that?”

“Filthy lies!” called the woman with the babe. “Our Queen would never do such a thing!”

“There’s no use denying it, you traitorous slattern! I heard the truth from the brother of one of the slain guards in The Old Guesthouse last night!” He made to stand, but Thranduil forced him back to the floor with a well aimed kick to the chest.

“You would do well not to believe everything you hear in the alehouse.” Thranduil looked down with distain. “Now it falls to me to deal with the consequences of your idiocy. Lady Elália belongs to me & you have damaged her. For damaging the property of the King, perhaps I should indeed take your hands.” The man shrank away from the Elvenking, the defiance in his eyes turning to fear. Thranduil appeared faintly amused. “Fortunately for you, I do not wish to dirty my sword.” He waved over a nearby pair of Gondorian soldiers, who were stood drinking cups of ale. They looked questioningly to Elália, who nodded for them to obey the Elvenking. “Take this one & find him the darkest, most unpleasant cell you have in your dungeons. If he is lucky, perhaps I will send word permitting his release in the fullness of time.”

He turned his back on the crowd & taking Elália firmly by the wrist, returned swiftly to the waiting elk. The pleas of the prisoner fell upon deaf ears as he remounted with his pet in his lap. The vile little swine was unlikely to ever see the light of day again: Elália was _his_ & he would permit no other to leave a single trace upon her.

Elália felt relieved that no more blood had been spilt, having seen more than enough since Thranduil’s arrival. Still, the man’s words had cut her more deeply than the stone. Did people really think her capable of such despicable things? If they did, no more was said about it as they made their way through the remainder of the First Circle, the bystanders returning to silence following the altercation. Elália hid her face against him once more, until they came to a stop & she heard him command the Great Gate to be opened.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. The last month was a very difficult one for me personally & so writing fell way down my priority list. I'm going to try & publish more often now, promise! Think I may have to start banning myself from Tumblr on writing days too!
> 
> Speaking of which, I changed my username to match my Tumblr account, if anyone's wondering. Makes life easier.

The elven army had made camp in Thranduil’s absence. Tents & cook-fires littered the ground outside the city walls, elves milling about tending to the horses, or practicing their sword skills. At the sight of their King, they quickly stopped what they were doing & formed ranks, awaiting Thranduil’s command. Most stared curiously at the elleth in his lap as he approached, a low murmur breaking out as her face became clearer. “I thought she was dead?!” Elália heard one ellon whisper in shock.

Thranduil called for silence as they drew to a halt, stopping the muttering amongst his troops. “I am pleased to announce that our war is at an end.” He informed them. “No more elven blood will be spilled. The realm of Gondor is ours. _Lady_ Elália has surrendered herself to me  & will be accompanying us back to Mirkwood.” Whispers of comprehension passed through the crowd as he indicated his prize. Thranduil barked out orders to several companies of soldiers to move into the city & bade the remainder to pack up the camp for immediate departure, appointing one of the ellons of his personal guard to govern in his stead. Although she could not say why, Elália was glad he had not selected Tauriel for the duty.

The task was accomplished with typical elven efficiency & before long, the host was mounted & ready for the off, with Thranduil at the head of the column. Elália sat next to him atop Celegmir, glad to finally have her horse back. Tauriel sat to Elália’s left upon a bay mare with a coat almost as red as her own hair. “ _Gwaem._ ” Thranduil commanded. “We go.”

The Elvenking set a quick pace as the host moved away from Minas Tirith, seemingly in a hurry to reach his destination. It was not long before the White City dwindled to little more than a speck on the horizon, leaving Elália to wonder if she would ever see her home again. They moved at a gallop along the course of the Anduin, every jolt in the saddle sending a fresh wave of pain through Elália’s aching buttocks. Thranduil watched her squirm with obvious enjoyment. “You are still more than welcome to ride with me if you are uncomfortable, _muin nin_!” he called mockingly. Elália flicked her middle finger towards him, just behind his line of sight. A barely audible snort of laughter came from her left, Tauriel grinning with amusement as Elália caught her eye.

Although Elália was in a fair amount of discomfort, the speed of their progress did not seem to be taxing her horse at all. Her father had once boasted that Celegmir was descended from Shadowfax himself, although Elália had taken that with a pinch of salt: a tall story to impress his daughter. Still, her steed did seem to be coping with the journey better than the other horses. Perhaps he could even outrun them. They had not yet reached the crossing at Cair Andros. If Elália could gain enough distance, perhaps she could make it to Edoras & seek shelter with the Rohirrim. Thranduil already had her realm. Surely he wouldn’t risk a new war purely to keep her in his grasp? She tentatively put her heels to her horse, edging half a length ahead of the thin line of elves.

Immediately, he was alongside her, his hand reaching to grip her upper arm so hard, Elália was sure it would bruise black & blue. He dragged her towards him until the flanks of their mounts were almost touching, Celegmir having to duck his head awkwardly to avoid the elk’s antlers. “I know exactly what you’re thinking Elália.” he informed her in a low, menacing tone. “Know this: if you try to run from me, I will have my archers shoot your horse dead before you can get so much as ten yards clear & you will be completing the journey bound hand & foot across the back of my steed. Understood?” Elália nodded in defeat. She may have been willing to risk her own life, but not Celegmir’s. “Say it then, Elália.”

“I understand.” she whispered.

“Good girl.” he released his grip on her, the two them falling back into place alongside the other elves as they made their approach to the crossing.

The southern footbridge gate was open, as was usual now that Gondor no longer faced incursions from the orcs of the Ephel Dúath. The river fortress was eerily quiet as they traversed the bridge, the sound of hoofbeats on stone seeming almost an intrusion. The southern gate was raised, allowing them to pass into the deserted outer ward unimpeded. Allela would almost certainly have taken on men from the garrison as he marched north, but surely he would have left a small company to maintain the outpost? If they had any sense, they would choose to remain hidden, unless they had already fled. Elália wondered what had become of them as the party passed through the bailey, watched only by silent walls & empty windows. 

Crossing the bridge to the northern shore, red stains upon the stones gave her answer. Elália marvelled at her own naivety. Of course Thranduil’s forces would have come this way as they moved south. Indeed, as they drew nearer the gate at the far end of the bridge, she saw that it was little more than a shattered ruin. Horrified, she looked to the Elvenking. He met her gaze unflinchingly. “Your men fought bravely, Elália. To the last man, they refused to surrender, even when I offered them mercy. I made sure that they were buried, alongside our own dead.” Elália nodded her thanks: it was an unusual gesture for any commander to honour the fallen of the enemy.

They continued their journey north in silence, minus a group of elves Thranduil ordered to remain at Cair Andros, staying close to the river as they crossed the Nindalf. They passed alongside the ancient statues of the Argonath as the sun hung low in the sky, Thranduil ordering his forces to make camp in the foothills of the Emyn Muil as the light began to fade.

Elália sat down upon the hillside as the camp was set up, looking sadly back at the distant statues that marked the border of the country she had so briefly ruled. She buried her face against her knees, listening to the distant sound of its new ruler barking orders in Sindarin. What would her father say if he could see her now? Or her grandparents, who fought so bravely to restore Gondor to glory? The sound of soft footsteps roused her. She looked up to see Tauriel, holding a skin of wine & two goblets. She waved them towards the former Queen. “Mind if I join you?”

Elália looked longing at the wine: it had been a long day. “Not at all.” she said, with what she hoped passed for a smile. Tauriel dropped herself down on the ground next to Elália & poured them a cup each. Elália put hers to her lips gratefully, drinking deeply of the now-familiar liquid as the elven captain did likewise. Elália lowered her glass slowly & raised an eyebrow to the redhead. “I would expect wine of this quality to be from the King’s personal supply?”

Tauriel put a finger to her lips with a smile. “It is.”

“Won’t you be in trouble if he finds out?”

“Not if we dispose of the evidence.”

Tauriel topped up their drinks, the two of them laughing conspiratorially. “So are you here of your free will, or did he assign you to babysit me?” Elália asked curiously.

“A little of both, I confess. He requested that one of his guard keep an eye on you. I volunteered.”

“But why?”

“You are different from other elleths. As in truth, am I. I think I should like to get to know you, my Lady.”

Elália smiled, raising her cup. “Well, I’ll drink to that!” They banged their goblets together, finishing the wine. Elália held her empty cup out for Tauriel to refill. “And please, no more of that ‘my Lady’ shit. Call me Elália.”

“Very well then. Elália.” The last of the wine dripped into her glass. “That sure went quickly!” Tauriel giggled.

The blonde looked towards the final traces of the sunset. “Probably just as well. Doubtless our King will be demanding his due shortly.”

That gave Tauriel pause. The King's controlling behaviour towards Elália worried her, especially what she had witnessed in the throne room. Thranduil had commanded his guard never to speak of the incident again. Still, it troubled her. She had to know one thing, even though the answer could make her lose her respect for her ruler. “Elália…” Tauriel hesitated, feeling uncomfortable, “Does he force you?” she asked quietly.

Elália looked at the ground for a long time before answering. In truth, the only thing he had truly forced from her was her own shameful lust, making her writhe & plead for him despite her hatred. “No.” She whispered sadly. “It’s so much worse than that. I almost wish he did. It would be easier, I think.”

Tauriel took her meaning. There was no denying the King’s raw beauty & appeal. She had seen him work his way through countless elleths before his infatuation with Eowéniel, seducing them with ease before tossing them aside. What chance did poor, cornered Elália have against him? “You should not feel so guilty, Elália.” She told her companion as they continued to drink. “We cannot help our desires. Believe me, I know better than anyone.” 

Elália looked at the redhead curiously over the rim of her cup, about to ask what she meant, when they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. They quickly downed the remaining wine, Tauriel barely having time to conceal the empty vessels beneath her dark green travelling cloak before the Elvenking stood over them. “Come, pet.” he ordered her, extending a hand to help her up. Elália ignored it, climbing to her feet unaided. 

Clearly offended by her slight, Thranduil grabbed her painfully by her chaffed wrist, half dragging her to his pavilion. He threw her down upon the makeshift bed, looming angrily above her. “It is lucky for you that the walls of this tent are so thin my pet, or I would whip your insolent little backside raw.” he told her as he tore at her clothing. “Fortunately for you, I see no reason why my camp should be kept awake by your screaming.” Emboldened by the wine, Elália pushed & kicked at him, trying to struggle free. “Unacceptable, Elália.” His open palm collided stingingly with her cheek. Elália’s hands flew to her face as the hot pain spread, her body going limp. Thranduil tore the last of her garments from her & reached down to pull her hands from her face, pinning them by her sides as he moved to brush his lips against the place his hand had struck. The elvenking drew back abruptly, his body straddling hers. “You’ve been drinking.” he said matter-of-factly.

“No I hav-“

“Did I not teach you the consequences of lying to me this morning, _iell_? I can smell the wine on your breath. Tell me, how did you come by it?”

“I stole it.” Implicating Tauriel would serve her no purpose, but with Thranduil already annoyed with his captain’s words to Elália earlier in the day, she would not risk directing his anger towards her new friend.

“Really?” He clearly did not believe her. “Unaided, with hundreds of elves in the vicinity?”

“Please. I was sneaking past my father’s guards at the age of eight with my brother.”

“And how exactly did you get past the guards assigned to the baggage train?” he questioned.

Elália rolled her eyes. “I told them I needed something to eat.” she lied. “Then I swiped the wine from amongst the food supplies.”

“Hmm.” the Elvenking was still clearly doubtful. “If that is your story, then I’m sure you know I’m going to have to punish you _muin nin_.” He reached across her, pulling the broken ribbon from her discarded bustier, binding her hands. He held her down on her back with one hand, as he reached the other between her legs, running a finger slowly around the outside of her clit. Elália felt herself becoming wet at his touch, the unquenched desire he had brought forth in her that morning once again rising to the surface. Thranduil dipped his fingertip into her, finding her ready for him. 

“Always so wet for me, my little slut.” He brought his hand to her mouth, pushing his finger between her lips, making her taste herself before returning it to tease her entrance once more, his palm resting torturously just above her needy clit. Elália moaned & bucked her hips, desperate for friction. “No, Elália.” he pushed her down more forcefully, so that she could no longer lift her waist. He added a second finger to caress her now leaking slit, drawing her juices down to ease the passage of his fingers along her labia, so close to where she needed to feel them. She bit her lip, stifling a cry of frustration. Thranduil laughed cruelly, flicking his thumb backwards to push into her, just short of her most sensitive spot. Elália moaned & tried desperately to wriggle down the bed, but the Elvenking was too strong. She whimpered resentfully as he tormented her, feeling as though the slightest stimulation in either place would be enough to carry her over the edge. “Poor little pet… You must really need to come.”

“Thranduil, please!” she gasped.

“ _King_ Thranduil.” he removed his hands from her & sat up, ignoring her half-feral growl. He unbound her & dragged her up to kneel between his thighs, moving her hands to his hardness. “Give me my release, Elália & then I will see about yours.” Elália bit back an insult, the heat between her thighs too much to endure. She needed what he promised far too badly not to comply. Reluctantly, she set to work, although she had little idea what she was doing. She clenched her hands around him, using both due to his size. Now it was Thranduil’s turn to stifle his moans as she moved her hands up & down his length. “Oh, that’s good, my dirty little whore!” he hissed. “Make it tighter.” He gasped as she obeyed his command, moving her hands faster as she did so. He grabbed her hair & pulled her lips to him as his body spasmed, forcing her to catch his seed in her mouth. “Mmm, that’s it, Elália. Swallow every last drop like a good little slut.” Elália did as she was told, licking him clean.

When she was done, Thranduil put one arm around her, keeping his other hand in her hair. He leant her almost tenderly back against the cushions, his body pressed close against her as he traced her lips with his own. Elália’s body responded eagerly, desperate for his touch. “ _Losto vae, muin nin._ ” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

“But you said -“ she cried hysterically.

“I lied.” he rolled over, turning his back on her. “I just happen to be better at it than you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have literally about a page of headcannons written down for this story that I'm going to be using in the coming chapters. Does anyone else do that, or is it just me?


	14. Chapter 14

Elália picked at her breakfast in annoyed silence. Once again, she had woken up sprawled across Thranduil, his hip pressed between her legs due to their height difference. A sharp pinch to her nipple had served as her alarm call, making the still-dozing Elália sigh with pleasure, rubbing herself against him before she came fully back to reality. She’d sprung from the bed in an embarrassed huff, the sound of soft laughter in her ears. Thankfully, the Elvenking was keen to get underway & so did not have time to tease her further.

He had however insisted that she eat with him, whilst the army set about packing up the camp. He stared smugly across the small table that had been set up for the two of them outside. Elália kept her gaze averted from his, preferring the sight of the sun rising over the hills instead.

Wishing for an excuse to leave his presence, she pushed her largely untouched plate away. Thranduil’s hand closed around her wrist. “You should eat more, pet.” he admonished her. “We have a long ride ahead of us today. You will need your strength.” He released her, running his fingers lightly along her arm. “I’m certain the things I have planned for you after we return to my halls will take a toll as well.”

“I don’t doubt that they will.” Elália said stiffly, returning to her food. A small part of her, the part he was keeping deliberately frustrated, was almost looking forward to it. She couldn’t believe the way he was able to manipulate her desire so easily, making her crave him like this.

They set off again as soon as the meal was over, moving even faster than yesterday. They cleared the Emyn Muil before the sun was fully risen, the host sweeping along the riverbank. Thranduil watched Elália as she rode next to him, enjoying the movement of her breasts & giving silent thanks that she had opted for a bustier & leggings again today. He had lived almost seven thousand years, watching the world shift around him, every transition both great & small. It was this experience that allowed him to see the subtle change in his new pet. Slowly but surely, Elália was coming to accept him as her Master. He knew that soon he would be able to force the admission from her. Indeed, time was of the essence. If he was going to enact his scheme for her once they returned to the Woodland Realm, it was imperative to bring her fully under his control first: there was much at stake & Elália’s compliance was essential to his plan. He needed it assured before she realised the truth.

The sky began to darken as they reached the southern edge of the forest. Elália was weary & saddlesore, but the Elvenking showed no sign of halting, despite the rapidly dwindling light. Elália was not sure she could maintain the pace for much longer, although she would sooner ride until she fell from her horse than admit that to Thranduil. “ _Hîr vuin!_ ” Tauriel called across her to him, as if she had read her mind. “My Lord, the light is failing. Would it not be wise to make camp?”

Thranduil bristled. “No it would not Tauriel.”

“But the light-“

“Light the damned torches, Tauriel. I will not make camp in this place. We ride through the night.” he snapped.

“Please my king.” Tauriel tried again bravely. “This is the second time we have ridden many leagues at this speed in a week. Our people are exhausted. And the horses… If you continue to drive them at this pace without rest, I fear many will not survive the journey.”

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at his long line of followers. Many of his elves rode slumped in their saddles, their eyes heavy, their horses frothing at the mouth. Even Elália’s steed, so spry yesterday, was panting heavily, his rider looking as though she was about to faint. “ _Daro!_ ” he shouted reluctantly. “Stop! We rest here.”

Elália dismounted gratefully, her body aching. Thranduil jumped down next to her, eyeing the treeline warily, as if scanning for threats. The notion seemed absurd to Elália. Her mother had told her children once that the forest had been reclaimed from the foul things that once dwelled there during her time in Thranduil’s realm, following The Battle Under The Trees. She had seemed particularly upset when she spoke of it, falling silent & refusing to speak anymore on the subject when her young daughter tried to question her further. 

Eldarion had quietly taken his children aside afterwards, explaining that Eowéniel’s father, their grandfather, had been one of Thranduil’s captains. He survived the battle, but took a mortal wound, perishing a few days later. Their grandmother had been a healer & tended to him as he died. Unable to cope with her loss, she had crossed the sea to Valinor not long after.

The rest of the realm’s history, Elália & Allela learned at their lessons with Maester Cael. She knew that the southern part of the lands had been given over to Lord Celeborn, until his departure. He offered the rule of his realm to his grandsons, who were at that time the Lords of Rivendell. Elladan chose instead to join his grandfather on his voyage to the Undying Lands. Elrohir opted to remain at Imladris, but declined Celeborn’s offer, since he was still becoming accustomed to leadership & felt the burden would be too much to shoulder alone. As such, the realm of East Lorien was currently ruled from it’s new capital at Amon Lanc by a council comprised of a senior member of each of the largest noble families, until the day a new leader emerged.

Yet Thranduil acted as though he expected some fell beast to leap forth from beneath the trees, one hand running repeatedly over the pommel of his sword. He wrapped the other around Elália’s waist, holding her close against him until his tent was set up, when he led her immediately inside, forbidding her to leave alone under any circumstances. He poured them a glass of wine each & they sat drinking in silence, the Elvenking’s gaze fixed resolutely on the entrance to the pavilion. “King Thranduil?” she started, puzzled at his sudden change of demeanour.

“ _Áva quetë_ , Elália.” he said softly. “Be silent.” Thranduil finished his wine & set his cup down upon the table, indicating that Elália should do the same as he rose & removed the simple white shirt & tight black riding trousers he had been wearing that day. Elália looked away, not wanting him to see the flicker of arousal in her eyes. “Come to bed, Elália.” His tone seemed to lack it’s customary commanding air, but nonetheless she obeyed, quickly shedding her clothing. To Elália’s surprise & slight disappointment, the Elvenking barely glanced at her as she climbed under the covers beside him, seeming for once to have no interest in sex. “Goodnight, Elália.” he whispered.

He did not wait for her to come to him in her sleep that night, but rather pulled her to him, clutching her tightly as if he was afraid she could disappear at any moment. Elália did not protest, tired of fighting the inevitable. His chest rose & fell rapidly, his body feeling tense beneath her, almost as if he was expecting to spring into battle at any moment. Elália was fearful, pondering what could possibly be enough to trouble one so strong as Thranduil.

He shook her awake as soon as the first light of dawn pierced the thin white walls of the tent. Elália had to speculate as to whether he had even slept at all. He ordered her to remain in the tent & ready herself for the day, whilst he left to attend to something. She was unsurprised when Tauriel entered a short while later. “I suppose he could have picked a much worse guard dog for me!” she called, by way of greeting.

“Indeed!” Tauriel laughed.

Elália wondered whether Thranduil’s captain knew of his strange behaviour & what lay behind it. “Tauriel…” she asked tentatively. “Does the King seem… unusual to you?”

“The King _always_ seems unusual to me.” the redhead said with a grin.

Elália giggled. “Well, yes! But I mean, more so than usual. He’s been acting strangely ever since we made camp.”

Tauriel nodded slowly. “Something happened here a long time ago, Elália. Something of which the King never speaks, although it is fairly well known amongst our kind. If I tell you, you must swear never to talk of it to Thranduil.”

“I promise.” Elália said solemnly.

“You must be aware that the King is a widower?” Elália nodded. It was common knowledge. “His Queen was a Sinda, as you would expect, but she shared blood with the Noldor as well. She was riding south to visit some kin in Lothlórien when her party was waylaid by orcs. This is where is happened. She was taken into the forest, to Dol Guldur, which stood where Amon Lac is now. She never came out again. The dark sorcerer who dwelled there at the time was too powerful. The King’s forces could not even get close. I don’t think he has ever gotten over his failure to rescue her. Orcs…” Tauriel shuddered. “They don’t tend to kill quickly. Most likely she suffered greatly. Be glad that you will most likely never have to encounter such vile creatures, Elália.”

 _Where it happened_. No wonder Thranduil was spooked, Elália thought. She looked at him sadly as he reentered the pavilion, whatever business he had left to deal with clearly concluded. Soon they were ready to depart for the final leg of their journey. Thranduil insisted that Elália ride with him, still seeming to want to keep her as close as possible. Elália felt almost sympathetic towards him, hearing Tauriel’s tale. She decided not to challenge him, her aching thighs secretly glad for the reprieve.

As they set off, she noticed a couple of riders break away from the main column, following a thin trail into the woods. One of them held a scroll with a red wax seal that looked very much like the one that had come shooting over the walls of Minas Tirith.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know I promised to publish on Monday, but I wrote my first draft of this chapter whilst stoned & when I re-read it for editing, it just didn't seem in keeping with the rest of the story, so I ditched it & started over.

It was evening by the time the party reached the Woodland Realm. Two more elves & one more scroll had left them at the junction of the Forest Road, heading east for the High Pass, doubtless carrying news of the Elvenking’s victory, Elália thought bitterly. Indeed, Thranduil had gradually returned to himself as they drew further away from the campsite. By the time they reached their destination, she could feel his hardness pressing against her through the thin material of her leggings. 

Thranduil knew she could feel him. He wanted her to, anticipating the sensation of him inside of her. The tell-tale quickening of her heart as her chest pressed against his gave away her excitement. He smirked to himself, picturing what he would soon do to her as they drew to a halt outside the gates of the palace. He dismissed his troops before jumping down from the elk with Elália is his arms, using her body to hide his arousal.

He had shown her more of himself than he wished to last night. He had felt the pull of his long-buried sorrow upon his heart as soon as they came within the shadow of that forsaken place. He would have gladly ridden for twenty nights to avoid languishing there, but to deny his people rest would have been foolhardy. He had expected his melancholy, but what he had not expected was how he had feared for Elália, his irrational need to keep her safe. She was but a spoil of war: a very enjoyable, potentially valuable one, but still a mere plaything nonetheless. He put it down to her resemblance to Eowéniel. A moment of weakness, being so reminded of both of his lost loves. He would need to be mindful of such lapses in future.

Thranduil carried her through the throne room, Elália barely registering its magnificence, her focus solely on the ellon who had taken her for his prisoner. She knew it was wrong to be so captivated with him, but being so close to him all day had only strengthened her need. He took her down the wide corridor that led to his private rooms, setting her on her feet as they entered. Elália glanced at the enormous bed & nervously back to the Elvenking, wondering what he had in store. He caught her looking. “Soon, my sweet little pet.” he stroked her hair back from her face to nip her neck sharply with his teeth, delighting in the way it made her whimper. “Very soon.”

He walked swiftly into one of his other rooms, returning quickly before Elália regained the wits to follow him. He held something behind his back as he emerged, moving quickly to the doors. “There is something I must attend to before I take what is mine. Stay put & make sure that you are ready to be at my disposal when I return. I will not be long.” With that, he slipped from the room. Elália sulked. Once again he had teased her, made her slip & then delivered nothing.

She wandered through into the room he had just come from, finding velvet-covered shelves & tables holding all manner of rings, jewels & crowns. Elália could not even begin to guess at the amount of wealth arrayed before her. Beyond that lay a dressing room, similar to her own, lined with rows of elaborate clothing.

Elália returned to the main chamber, following a different route this time. She found herself stood in a wide open cavern containing a deep pool, another door leading off to what she presumed was the outer passage, although this appeared to be barred from the inside. Elália stripped off her clothing gratefully after two days of having to wash from a basin, leaving it piled in a corner along with her boots. The water felt good against her skin, seeming to soothe away the aches that the long ride had brought. Elália made a point of washing her hair, looking forward to its return to its natural state, even if it would most likely be for only a short while.

She did not tarry long, mindful of what had happened the last time she failed to follow his instructions. Elália looked around the room as she towelled the water from her hair. It probably wouldn’t do to be sat around in a towel when Thranduil returned, but she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of greeting him in her birthday suit either. Her eyes came to rest on a row of pegs, on which hung long silken robes of varying colours. She selected one of the less ornate ones, plain black & lightly embroidered.

The garment was slightly too long for her & Elália had to move carefully to avoid tripping as she made her way barefoot back to the Elvenking’s bedchamber. She found Thranduil stretched out unapologetically naked upon the bed, toying with a length of silvery rope between his hands. The sight turned Elália on far more than she would have liked. _We cannot help our desires_ , Tauriel had said. But of all people, why must it be him?

“I do not recall giving you permission to borrow my clothing, Elália.” Thranduil called to her. “Remove it immediately.” He smirked arrogantly as she carried out his instruction. A few days ago, she would still have attempted to defy him. He knew he had her now. By the end of the night, he would make sure she knew it as well. “Come here, pet.” he commanded. Again, she obeyed him instantly, though her movements were slow, no doubt to deliberately mask her eagerness. She couldn’t hide the way her eyes had dilated when she encountered him though, nor the wetness he knew he would find when he parted her thighs. Elália belonged to him.

Elália climbed onto the bed next to Thranduil, allowing him to push her down onto her back. She trembled with apprehension as he guided her wrists above her head, binding her helplessly to the bed. Being at his mercy both thrilled & terrified her at the same time.

Thranduil moved over her, elated at the mix of fear & lust in her eyes, his cock pressing against the slick proof of her desire for him. This would be almost too easy. He slid forcefully into her, eliciting a yelp from Elália that he was unable to tell whether was of pleasure or pain. Perhaps both: she was still so deliciously tight, even after he had claimed her innocence. Resisting his impulse to continue, he pressed his body firmly against his victim, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked down at her. “Elália _muin_.” he purred. “I think it is time you  & I had a little talk about the nature of our relationship.”

“What?!” Elália hissed, quite unable to believe what she was hearing, still reeling from the shock of his incursion. She had been led to believe that sex got easier after the first time, but she still felt painfully stretched. Perhaps it was a good thing that his size was still difficult to take, she thought shamefully. It served her right for wanting him, after all he had done. Still, discomfort or not, her body was still screaming for release. “This isn’t really a good time.” she said weakly.

“On the contrary, pet. This is the perfect time.”

Elália tried to move beneath him, desperate to feel him shift inside her, but could do nothing with his weight pinning her to the bed. “Fine.” she snapped. “We have no relationship. I still despise you. Discussion over.”

The Elvenking laughed at her. “Nice try, pet. This discussion ends when I say it does & not before. And you are going to admit just how much you enjoy being my little fuck-toy, Elália.”

“I do not!”

“Really? Because if you do not want me to fuck you, then it seems I should untie you & go find another means to satisfy my needs.”

“No!” Elália squealed, the word leaving her lips before she realised it.

“No? Tell me then, Elália. Tell me how much you want me to use you.”

“Never!” she hissed.

“You do not want me to let you go & yet you still refuse to admit you are mine? Should we stay here all night then, _muin nin_? I’m patient. I can wait.”

“Just because you happen to be able to force my body to respond to you, it does not mean that I enjoy the way you treat me!”

“Mmm… But you do, Elália. I already know it. You would not be so responsive if you did not enjoy being under my control. The person you really need to admit it to is yourself. Although I will certainly enjoy hearing you say it out loud.” He shifted his weight ever so slightly, feeling her quiver around him as the small motion travelled through her, revelling in her barely audible gasp. “Oh, did that feel good pet? Imagine how good it would feel if I fucked you hard. And I will if that is what you want, Elália.” Thranduil drew back slightly, allowing her just the smallest flicker of sensation. He choked back a groan as she clenched herself against him in response. “All you have to do is tell me the truth.”

Tears of frustration & guilt sprang to Elália’s eyes, wanting nothing more & hating herself for it. Thranduil’s dominance, even his cruelty, she was slowly becoming addicted to. If she spoke the words he wanted to hear, she knew he would own her forever. Yet how could she not, with the promise of satisfaction so close? Almost as though he could sense her resolve begin to crumble, he stirred within her once more. No longer able to hold back, Elália moaned his name, wrapping her legs around his back in a desperate attempt to pull him deeper, but the Elvenking was too strong for her. Elália knew then that she was broken. “Thranduil, please! Yes, please fuck me, my King!” she mewled, desperate for her torment to end.

“Why should I?”

“Because you are right.” Elália whispered. “I do want… I need the things you do to me. I don’t know why, but I do.”

“It is in your nature, Elália. There is no shame in it. Now tell me pet, do you truly accept me as your Master?”

“Yes.” she said quietly, her tone full of resentment.

“What was that, _muin nin_?”

“Yes!” Guilty tears slid down her cheeks. “I belong to you… Master.” There could be no going back now. It was done.

“Yes, Elália…” he moved out of her, torturously slowly, until barely his tip was inside of her. “Yes, you fucking well do!” He slammed back into her, finally giving her what she was so desperate for. Elália’s breath caught in her throat, leaving her barely able to gasp as he fucked her. “Is this what you wanted, slut?”Elália screamed her affirmation as he straightened himself upwards, grabbing her ankles & pulling them up past his shoulders, penetrating her more deeply than she had ever thought possible.

Elália felt a relief that had nothing to do with the ecstasy of the climax he had denied her until now. In that moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. She felt almost as though she was floating. There was no reality here: no right or wrong, only the feel of him inside of her. “You look so beautiful when you come, pet.” She heard his voice, though it seemed to come from miles away. “Perhaps I should see how many times I can make you?” Elália could only mutter incoherently in response as he increased the intensity of his thrusts, her legs starting to buckle under the increased pressure as her body spasmed once again in his grasp. 

Thranduil was uncompromising & Elália soon found herself with her knees almost pressed against her chest, his body nearly completely over her. He was almost too much for her this way & the next orgasm he wrung from her came tinged with a hint of soreness, bringing her back to herself. She whimpered his name, unsure how much more she could take. Thranduil moaned in response, releasing his grip on her legs to fall completely upon her. He claimed her open mouth in a fiery kiss as she cried out in pleasure one last time, feeling the warmth of him spurting into her.

He stilled within her as he spent the last of himself, the ferocity of his mouth against hers ceasing, becoming almost gentle. Elália lay quivering beneath him, her body & mind exhausted. She tried to speak, but no words would come. Thranduil slipped out of her & unbound her hands. He rolled onto his back, pulling Elália into his arms as he did so. “Thank you for your honesty tonight, Elália.” he told her. “Now that you have admitted your desire to submit to me, I expect you to behave accordingly. Please me & tonight will seem like nothing compared to the things I can do to you. Cross me & I will punish you severely. Understood?”

“Yes.” Elália murmured, finally finding her voice. “I _was_ honest. I cannot help my attraction to you, no more than a moth can help the way it is drawn to a flame. I am tired of resisting. Maybe even glad that you forced this confession from me, but that does not change my feelings towards you. So yes. I will allow you to use me however you wish, _Master_. But I will never allow myself to love you.”

Thranduil was surprised at how much her words stung him. What should it matter to him if she cared for him or not? “It is enough, Elália. You & I have all of eternity before us. At least now you have finally accepted your place, perhaps we can both enjoy it.”

 _All of eternity._ Elália knew she had been gifted with the life of the Eldar, but she was still young by elven standards  & had been raised amongst men. She had still not fully come to terms with the concept of immortality. “You’re never going to let me go, are you?” she whispered, no longer sure what answer she hoped for.

“No _muin nin_ , I am not.” he said softly. “Sleep now, pet. You & I have a busy day ahead tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know Thranduil blatantly has a room full of bling stashed away...


	16. Chapter 16

Two dark-haired elleths fussed over Elália’s hair as she sat upon a chair with her back to the King’s private breakfast table, wearing nothing but a short slip. She had awoken to find Thranduil gone, the two of them stood nervously at the foot of the bed, debating whether or not to wake her. The youngest looking of the two had introduced herself as Gemiele, a handmaiden. The older was Ecelyth, an apothecary. Elália had wondered for what purpose her presence was necessary, until the elleth had produced a small vial, explaining that it contained a tincture popular amongst some Silvan elves who were often born with curls in their hair. She worked it into Elália’s hair as Gemiele ironed it flat, explaining that it should keep it smooth for a month or more. Elália was not best pleased with the information, but she supposed at least it meant she need suffer this indignity less often.

Both elleths were pleasant enough, polite almost to a fault, although she caught Gemiele glancing at her sadly from time to time. Ecelyth took her leave of them once her work was done, telling Elália to send for her once the treatment began to wear off. _Not if I can help it._ Elália thought, examining her appearance with distaste in a mirror that hung above a large dresser carved of dark wood. Gemiele began to rummage unbidden through Elália’s trunk, which been brought in earlier by a couple of guards. She held up a long low-cut jade velvet gown. “How about this one, my lady?" 

Elália was not much in the mood for gowns. “No.” she answered flatly. 

The handmaiden pulled out a long silvery dress, beaded with tiny pearls. “This one then? Silver is one of the King’s favourite colours. I’m sure it would please him.”

“Really?” Elália raised an eyebrow, noting that the handmaiden’s simple tunic & leggings were silver. “Well, definitely not then!”

That earned her a reproachful look. “You do not wish to please him?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“You should be honoured that he gives you his attention, my lady.” Gemiele whispered as the doors opened.

“Thank you Gemiele, that will be all.” Thranduil dismissed her.

“Yes, my King.” The handmaiden said breathlessly, bowing as she left. Elália rolled her eyes.

Of course, he noticed the gesture. “No need for jealously, pet.” he said smugly, crossing the room. “She is a common Silvan elf. The closest she will ever get to my bed is to change the sheets.” He pulled a small box from within his robes, setting it down upon the dresser.

 _Jealous? Was that what he thought?_ “Don’t flatter yourself. I was merely wondering if Gemiele would still moon over her beloved King if she had any idea how you like to take your pleasure.”

Thranduil chuckled quietly. “I very much doubt it. Luckily, I have you to keep me amused. Kneel for your King, Elália.” He was pleased with how quickly she obeyed his command. Now was the perfect time. He stepped behind her & opened the box, staring sadly for a moment at the contents before removing them.

Elália’s breath quickened as his hands moved around her throat & under her hair. She felt something settle upon her collarbones an instant before she heard a soft click. Thranduil stood over her, looking down at her almost wistfully.

“You look perfect like that, _muin nin_.” He said, surprised to find that he meant it, even if the sight was not an easy one for him. But he needed what was about to come to appear convincing. It was imperative that Elália not catch wind of his true motives. Not yet. Taking a deep breath, he extended a hand to help her up. As he could have predicted, a look of shock spread over Elália’s face as she saw her reflection. For around her neck hung white gems that glimmered with pure starlight.

Elália ran her fingers disbelievingly over the stones. “I don’t understand. Why would you give this to me? All Arda knows the worth of these gems to you.”

“ _Give_ them to you?” The Elvenking slid her hair to one side as he carefully rotated the delicate chain around her neck. “Oh pet, you do amuse me!” He gently pulled the necklace away from her skin with his left hand, revealing a small but sturdy looking lock. A flick of his right arm caused the sleeve of his robe to fall backwards, unveiling a slim silver chain around his wrist on which dangled a small key. “I told you a collar would suit you better than a crown, _muin nin_. Only I can remove it, therefore it is still my property. As are you, for that matter. I am simply keeping two of my favourite possessions in one place.”

“Even so, surely this is too extravagant for a glorified bed slave to be seen wearing?”

“A slave?” Thranduil smirked. “Hardly. Slaves are taken unwillingly, Elália. Where as you…” He took her cheek in his hand & turned her face to his, brushing his lips against hers until she parted them to allow his tongue access. His cock began to stiffen & he had to fight the urge to throw her over the dresser & fuck her until she begged him to stop. Not that he would listen of course, but there were more pressing matters at hand. 

Reluctantly, he released his grip on her. Much hinged upon his next words. He knew he had to choose them carefully. “No _muin_ , we both know you more than enjoy your place in my bed. Nonetheless, your continued presence there poses a problem. You are a captive of war. By rights, you should be locked away in my dungeons. But luckily for you, I enjoy you far too much. In truth, it is good not to have to restrain myself, my… darker desires.” The Elvenking sighed deeply. As valuable a pawn as she was, what he took from her behind closed doors was worth more than diamonds or gold to him. “But no, I have had… dalliances in the past, silly little elleths seduced into a night with their King. Sweet, soft, innocent things who could barely stand half of what I do to you, my beautiful little slut. Such tepid liaisons never lasted more than a few nights, but you are far too much fun to discard.”

“Am I meant to be grateful?” she scowled.

“You should be, Elália. You have been raised outside of our culture, so it falls to me to educate you on certain matters. Our people hold some very… quaint views on the subject of relationships. My little dalliances are overlooked because of my station & also because they are brief. And any elleth I chose to keep around would have the expectation of becoming my bride & all that comes with it. It is only logical that I would want to assess our compatibility before making such a commitment.” he smirked. “After all, I would not buy wine for my cellars without first trying a glass.”

“I suppose that makes a certain level of sense. Or at least a convenient excuse.”

“Quite. So then, as I have no intention of giving you up, pet…” he took her right hand in his & slid a silver ring wrought into the shape of woodland leaves onto her index finger. Elália looked at him blankly. Thranduil sighed. It seemed Eowéniel had taught her daughter nothing of the traditions of her people. He removed a matching ring from his pocket, placing it upon his own finger. “Normally tradition would dictate that you choose a pledge ring for me, but somehow I couldn’t see that occurring.” he laughed dryly.

“Pledge ring?” Elália started, dumbfounded. “But doesn’t that mean…”

“Yes, Elália. You are to be my wife.”

“No!” Elália was appalled. “I cannot marry you. I don’t even like you, much less love you!”

Again her words cut him more than he cared to admit. “You have made that abundantly clear, _muin nin_. Perhaps in time you will come to change your mind-”

“Not fucking likely!”

“Watch yourself, my little brat. It would be a shame if you were unable to sit down at our betrothal feast tonight. Besides, being pledged is the only way I can justify keeping you around in the eyes of my people. Even a King is obligated to keep up appearances. So to answer your question, you will wear my gems because you wear my ring. Because it will be expected of my betrothed.” That much was true, at least. The necklace was made to be worn by the wife of the King. People would expect to see it around the throat of his intended. “And what should it matter to you whether or not we marry? It is not as though you will ever be with anyone else, Elália. You are mine & mine alone. Unless of course, you would prefer to rot in a cell?”

“And so you offer me a gilded cage instead?” 

“If that is how you choose to look at things, so be it. But make your choice, Elália. Do you consent to be my bride or not?”

Elália had to admit that his words rang true. Thranduil would never set her free. She was learning to separate her lust from her emotions when it came to the Elvenking, but it was one thing to be his plaything & another to become his wife. And yet if she was to be forever in his possession, then was it really of any consequence whether or not they were wed?

She gritted her teeth & prepared to give her answer.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Yes, I changed my username again. Sorry it's been so long. I'd written this chapter on my old computer & was in the process of editing, before it got destroyed. I've been trying to reconstruct it the same way, but somehow this still doesn't seem right. It's still shorter than what I originally had, but I can't figure out what I'm missing, so I'm just going to go ahead & publish anyway.

“It is hardly much of a choice, King Thranduil. I am still your prisoner, no matter which option I choose. I may as well take the more comfortable one. So fine. You win. Again.”

 “I am pleased to hear it, Elália.” Thranduil told her, his own sincerity catching him off guard, although there was no mistaking the bitterness of Elália’s tone. He had been about to enter his chambers when he had heard voices from within. He had been disappointed by her exchange with Gemiele, hoping to see an improvement in her attitude towards him. That she would consciously avoid doing something that might give him a little pleasure had bothered him more than he cared to admit. 

“That makes one of us.”

“Why must you always be so difficult?” he sighed at her unnecessary retort.

“Probably the same reason you must always be so fucking cruel.”

He laughed darkly, seizing her wrists. He spun her around, pinning her face-first up against the wall with one hand. “Watch your mouth, pet.” he hissed in her ear, forcing his free hand beneath her breast to harshly squeeze her erect nipple. “Or you will find out just how cruel I can be.” The soft moan that escaped her lips told him how much she wanted to be taken by him, but he had much to do before evening fell. Besides, he enjoyed making her wait. She was always so decadently pliant when her need for him grew strong. 

He let go of her, smirking at the look of disappointment that spread across her face. “Don’t pout so, Elália _muin._ I fucked you well last night. Surely you are not so desperate for my cock again already?”

“I…” Elália looked down embarrassedly, her cheeks flushed.

“I see.” He gloated, delighted with her response. “Do you really think you’ve done anything to earn it, my little whore?” He pressed her back into the wall.

“I just gave you what you wanted!”

“Indeed you did, _muin nin._ It is a good start. But you should aim to please me more, if you wish for me to please you.” He moved over to pick up the silver dress. “You could begin by wearing this for the feast tonight. Gemiele was correct. I do have a certain fondness for silver.”

Elália turned pink. “You heard that?”

“I happened to be stood outside at the time, yes.” he smirked. “Besides, silver is a fitting colour for a betrothal. I would have the servants make a new gown for you if we had more time. For our wedding, when we exchange rings of gold, you will have a fine gown to match & all Arda shall envy me my bride.”

Elália rolled her eyes. “An empty gesture. You care only to remind others of your status. I am merely another of your accessories.” She waved a hand in the direction of his dressing room.

Thranduil faltered for a moment. He had meant his words as a compliment. Troublesome though she may be, Elália was definitely beautiful, as Eowéniel had been. All eyes would surely be upon her on the day she became his forever. Yet she could only believe the worst of him. “I would have you appear worthy of a King.” He threw the dress to her. “Even though you are not.” he added, wanting to hurt her for what she had said to him. 

To his annoyance, Elália turned her back on him, stepping into the long dress & easing it up over her shoulders. He watched for a while as she fumbled awkwardly with the corseted back, before realising this was probably the sort of task that had usually fallen to her handmaidens. He rolled his eyes & walked over to take the ribbon from her, drawing the garment forcefully closed in one swift motion & tying it securely.

Elália gasped at the sudden tightness, her hands flying up to her chest, the breath catching in her throat. Having recovered, she froze, staring down curiously at her fingers. Slowly, she raised her right hand to her throat, holding Eowéniel’s ring against the necklace. Her eyes grew wide as she compared the two in the dresser mirror, her lips falling slightly open in a silent question as she turned her gaze to him. 

“Yes, Elália.” he told her reluctantly. “Those gems are the same. Your mother & I grew close during her time in these woods. I made a gift of that ring to her as a token of my affections at the Feast of Midsummer, two hundred years from the day we first met. I had hoped one day to have the opportunity to give her the necklace to match it.” He traced his fingers wistfully over the stones as he spoke. “If your wretched father hadn’t stolen her from me, it would be her stood here now.”

Truthfully, he had been surprised to find Eowéniel had kept his gift. He had been unable to resist looking once he noticed the familiar jewellery case upon Elália’s dresser. Finding the ring had both pleased & saddened him, leading him to wonder whether Eowéniel may have still felt something for him. The lives of men, even the Dunedin, were but a mere blink in the eyes of an elf. His spies within the Minas Tirith told him that the Queen had not chosen to give up her longevity despite her foolish love for the mortal, for the sake of her halfelven children. Perhaps if he had bided his time & waited for Eldarion’s passing, his love would have returned to his side.

The night he had caught her in the arms of the human had devastated him. He had made no secret of his intentions towards Eowéniel, attending the feast he had thrown to honour the arrival of his guest with her on his arm. And yet Eldarion had been so arrogant as to seek to take her from him, within his own halls. He had forbidden the relationship, telling the King of Gondor in no uncertain terms to return to his own Kingdom.

He & Eowéniel had argued furiously, after which she had stormed back to her rooms, locking the door behind her. Foolishly, he had resolved to give her some space, hoping that she would calm down by herself. By the time he learned she had defied him to sneak out of his kingdom to join her lover, it had been too late for him to catch her before she entered the White City. 

The guards at the great gate had denied him access by order of their King, but had acquiesced to deliver his demand for Eowéniel to return. He could still recall the words of her response:

‘ _My Dear King Thranduil._

_I cannot obey you in this. My heart tells me that Eldarion & I are destined for one another & I must follow it. I cherish the bond of our friendship & I care most deeply for you. I am truly sorry if I gave you hope where there was none._

 

_Forgive me,_

_Eowéniel._  

But he could not forgive her, anymore than he could forget her. He had returned to his palace in a rage. Not only had she broken his heart, but she had the gall to disobey a direct order from her King. He’d immediately severed his longstanding alliance with Gondor, going so far as to refuse to trade with Eldarion’s people.

When news of her engagement to him had reached the palace, he issued a decree forbidding their wedding & refused to recognise its legitimacy, again ordering Eowéniel to return. And again, she defied him. Countless times after that, she would do the same, the matter becoming an embarrassment to him.

A jibe from the visiting dwarf King about being unable to control his people had sent him over the edge. It was bad enough that the subject was probably whispered about behind his back by his own kind, but to be mocked by a dwarf of all creatures would not stand. He resolved to bring her back him, even if it must be in chains. When his spies had told him that the King & Queen were visiting Osgiliath & were due to return with only a small company of guards, he had sensed his opportunity.

But how could he have foreseen that the mortal would have such an insensible reaction to his final attempt to bring Eowéniel back to her home? Queen of Gondor she may have become, but Eowéniel was first & foremost a subject of his realm. He had every right to arrest her for her treasonous disobedience. 

Worse still was that she had taken up arms alongside her husband, against her own kin. She had refused to surrender peacefully even after Eldarion had fallen, when there could be no hope of victory, grief driving her rage. It had led to the deaths of two of his elves before her own, as they fought unsuccessfully to subdue her before resorting to the only solution left to them. The first kinslayings amongst his people for millennia.

And now she was forever lost to him & he had only her daughter as recompense. So like Eowéniel in her appearance & yet so wilful. Doubtless her oaf of a father had raised her as a spoiled little princess, used to getting her own way all the time. He would give her no such indulgence. He had all the control here & they both knew it.

He ran his hands appreciatively over the curves of Elália’s body, admiring their shared reflection. Her dress forced her breasts enticingly upwards, whilst a long split in the skirt elegantly revealed her right leg. He found himself idly wondering whether Eowéniel had adopted a similar style during her time in Gondor. It was much more flesh than most elleths would choose to reveal & he realised that his announcement later would cause a stir in more ways than one.

It was certainly causing a stir in him. Elália always seemed to. He had always had a natural talent for reading people, for figuring out who they truly were. It had served him greatly during his long years as King. Something in the way she had first looked at him, so completely in awe & the naked desire that flickered behind her eyes had told him instinctively what she was, even if she had yet to learn it herself. The obvious power he had over her had inflamed a dark lust within him, a need to bend her to his will in spite of her early defiance of him. If anything, having to break her pathetic attempts at resistance had made things all the sweeter.

However, he had been so fully preoccupied with securing his victory without further losses to his people & ensuring Elália’s submission to him, that he had initially failed to realise that she could be of use to him as more than just an outlet for his needs. To promise himself to Elália was necessary, yet it was no small thing. He was somewhat bewildered to not find himself entirely disliking the idea. 

He wanted to possess her completely. And soon, he would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, the story of how Thrandy got friendzoned.
> 
> Decided to do something a little different than people may have expected & write this chapter from Thranduil's perspective (plus a little more backstory for you). Don't worry, we'll get Elália's thoughts in the next one!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I'm back to working 45 hour weeks, plus my volunteer work & social life. I'm thinking of petitioning for an extra 5 or 6 hours in the day, as that'd be the only way I'd be able to get everything done!

Elália’s heels clicked against the stone floor of the corridor as she made her way to the ballroom on Thranduil’s arm. Her future husband had insisted upon it. _Future husband_. The phrase rankled her. A loveless marriage or imprisonment. Some choice.

It was not the threat of confinement that had frightened her into accepting his ultimatum, so much as the prospect of loneliness. Elália had grown up surrounded by friends, family & servants. Whether she was attending court, dancing at a ball or merely getting ready for the day, her world had always been filled with conversation & laughter. The only time she was ever alone was when she slept. The idea of being trapped in a marriage with Thranduil was nothing compared to the thought of being trapped in silence. Having to spend the day shut away in his chambers by herself whilst he made preparations for the evening had been bad enough.

Worse still, she doubted that imprisonment would assuage the guilt she felt for desiring him. If anything, it would only become worse. She knew he would never truly give up his use of her, even if it was in secret, down in the darkness of some cold cell. With no other contact, she would most likely come to crave his touch all the more.

She had not been naive enough to think that the Elvenking would simply just allow her to go about her business once they reached his realm, expecting that he would continue to use her as his plaything. But that she would have to wed him in order for him to openly do? She had no idea that elves were so prudish. She certainly would not have guessed from the way their King fucked her.  Perhaps this marriage would not be such a bad idea. She was beginning to suspect that he may have ruined her for other men. Surely nobody else could make her feel the way he had last night? And yet he had said it was nothing compared to what he could do to her, where she to please him. Loathe him she might, but she wanted desperately to find out what he had meant by that.

So for tonight at least, she would follow his instructions & play the dutiful bride-to-be, never leaving his side. At least there was a party to attend, although she had no idea what that constituted in this kingdom. Thranduil did not strike her as the type to enjoy social gatherings. She strongly suspected that, had their roles been reversed, the Elvenking would have had no problem with a lifetime alone.

They drew a stop outside the heavy stone doors to the ballroom. Thranduil turned to face her, adjusting the silver scarf he had insisted she wear around her neck to hide his gems until he was ready to make his announcement. Elália had not argued. The last thing she wanted was to spend the entire evening pretending to smile at well-wishers & fielding awkward questions. He took hold of her shoulder firmly with his free hand. “Ready, _muin nin_?” he asked smugly.

“I do not think I shall ever be ready.” Elália sighed.

“Careful, pet.” he warned her, nodding for his guards to open the door.

A fanfare announced their arrival. “Presenting his Majesty King Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland Realm & Gondor, with his escort, the Lady Elália of Minas Tirith.” an unseen male voice called. Polite applause broke out amongst the elves gathered at the base of the wide stone staircase as they entered.

A thick red carpet had been laid over the steps, descending into a high-ceilinged area almost as large as the King’s throne room. The space had been beautifully decorated with fresh woodland flowers, whilst golden lanterns flickered against the walls. Fireflies danced in the air, trailing light. Elália resisted the urge to giggle. They were a bit too much.

Tauriel watched Thranduil lead Elália into the centre of the room to open the dancing from her post at the back of the dais. Guarding the Royal table during feasts was a purely ceremonial role, far beneath her station as Captain. Clearly her words to Elália back in her bedchamber in Minas Tirith had offended her King more than she had thought, for him to deliberately exclude her from the festivities. Not that she felt like joining them anyway. It seemed excessive to her for the King to throw a feast in order to parade his new concubine before their people. 

A group of unaccompanied elleths close to the foot of the stairs, Gemiele amongst them, stared at Elália enviously as Thranduil lightly took hold of her. His touch felt strange to her & she realised this was the first time he had ever really been gentle with her. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked it. Elália loved to dance. It was one of the few things she had a natural talent for. Today was the first time she had ever stepped onto a dance floor without a smile on her face. She closed her eyes as the music began to play, focusing solely on the sound rather than her partner, her hips slipping effortlessly into an easy rhythm. By contrast, Thranduil’s movements were graceful & precise, yet they seemed almost perfunctory. He clearly did not enjoy dancing. Elália was unsurprised: to truly be a good dancer required one to give oneself fully to the music. Thranduil was not one to give away anything.

She felt something twitch against her as other dancers began to take to the floor. The Elvenking may not like dancing, but it seemed he was starting to enjoy her performance. She moved in closer to him, a devious smile spreading across her lips. Any chance to take a little dignity from him, she welcomed. She shifted her hips in broader motions, relishing the opportunity to sway a little faster whenever the tempo increased. Soon Thranduil’s movements were not the only thing that was stiff, his hand slipping involuntarily to her backside, before he caught himself & returned it to its position on her hip, his grip now firm. “ _Enough, Elália!_ ” his voice echoed in her mind.

“As you wish, my King.” she whispered in reply as the song ended. She span rapidly away from him with a smirk & stalked off towards a dark-haired ellon holding a tray of wine, leaving him briefly exposed before he caught up with her. 

He grabbed hold of her by the elbow, pulling her backwards into his arms to cover himself, his erection pressing into her. From the stares they were attracting, a few people had certainly noticed. Gemiele’s eyes were wide as saucers, whilst Tauriel was trying desperately not to laugh. “That was unwise, pet.” he hissed in her ear.

“Did you not like my dancing, my King?” she asked innocently, reaching to grab a cup of wine from the tray & knocking it back. “I was under the impression it was pleasing to you.” She wriggled herself against him, enjoying his sharp intake of breath.

“You will behave yourself brat, or face the consequences.” he told her quietly, reaching past her for wine of his own. “Now, come.” Elália swiped a fresh drink for herself before allowing him to guide her up to the long table on the dais, his hardness still pressing into the small of her back. It was much too early for the food to be served & nobody else moved to join them. She caught Tauriel’s eye, the two of them exchanging mischievous smiles as the Elvenking quickly sat down. She gracefully perched herself beside him, sipping smugly at her wine.

To her alarm, she felt Thranduil’s touch upon her thigh beneath the tablecloth. He leaned in close to her, his lips brushing against her ear, much as they had that fateful first night back in Minas Tirith. “I am glad you found that so amusing, pet.” He pushed aside the split of her dress. “Let us see how humorous you find this.” 

He brushed his hand upwards to stroke between her legs. Elália gasped, feeling his fingers make contact with her clit. He squeezed her firmly between his thumb & middle finger, the slight bite of pain mixing with pleasure as he teased her with his index finger. She almost sighed his name before remembering where she was. “Oh no!” she whispered, realising his intent. “Please, King Thranduil, stop!” The Elvenking laughed quietly, ignoring her plea. He intensified his efforts, his expression calm. To everyone else in the room, he would appear to be merely surveying the dancers with his usual level of disinterest. 

Elália had to quickly bring her wine to her lips to muffle a whimper, feeling how wet he was making her, her grip on the goblet so tight her fingers hurt. She tried to focus herself on other things, determined not to lose control, suddenly feeling as though the eyes of every elf in the room were upon her. _Stop fighting me, Elália._ She heard his voice in her head. _This only ends one way, muin nin._

Without warning, he plunged two fingers deep into her. Elália gasped, spilling wine upon the tablecloth, turning the heads of the nearest dancers. Thranduil confiscated the drink with his free hand, setting it down out of her reach, leaving her with nothing to cover her mouth. She bit her lip as he worked her, stroking her swollen nub with his thumb as he struck her core. Elália’s fingernails dug into the edge of the table, feeling herself start to unravel. She looked at him in horror, realising he was not just teasing her this time. “My King…” she hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m begging you don’t-“

It was too late. She moaned his name as he forced her climax from her, making people turn sharply to look towards them. To her dismay, Thranduil did not stop, determined to force more noise from her. Thinking quickly, Elália threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a deep kiss to smother her moans against his lips. His free arm snaked around her, holding her close to him as she rode out her orgasm, her face red with heated embarrassment.

Satisfied that he had made his point, the Elvenking withdrew his hand, wiping it unceremoniously on the underside of her skirt before taking her fully into his embrace. Elália buried her face in his chest, certain that everyone could sense her shame. 

With a smirk, Thranduil waved a hand to dismiss what onlookers they had garnered, knowing that they were probably more curious about their King’s uncharacteristic public display of affection than anything else. Not that Elália would know that. “Do not ever seek to cause me discomfiture again, pet.” he said quietly. “Lest I chose a much less pleasant means of teaching you a lesson in front of my people.” With that, he let go of her.

Tauriel looked on in disbelief as Elália broke away from the King & reached for her wine. She had counselled her friend that she should not feel such guilt over her attraction to Thranduil, but she had not imagined that the blonde would embrace it so fully, so soon. Something was most definitely amiss, she thought, watching Galion approach the couple with his tray of wine.

Elália’s eagerness to claim a new drink troubled her. The servants had only just begun to enter the hall with platters of food & yet that was her third cup of the evening. Her friend’s face was flushed, her expression somewhat dazed. Perhaps she was simply too drunk to realise what she was doing? Tauriel could hardly blame her. If she was in Elália’s position, she would most likely turn to alcohol herself.

At the sight of the servants, the elves began making their way to the long tables set out around the edges of the room, those of sufficiently high birth making their way to places of honour at the King’s table. Among them were a few elves with dark hair & others with golden tresses. Elália was surprised to see them. She had assumed that the nobility would be exclusively Sinda, given Thranduil’s seeming preoccupation with his own race. _You are not to speak unless you are spoken to, Elália._ His silent instruction surprised her a little, but she nodded a slight acknowledgement all the same. In truth, she had little desire to speak to anyone after what had just transpired.

She sipped silently at her wine as the evening progressed, periodically waving for a new cup whenever she drained her previous one. At Thranduil’s insistence, she picked unenthusiastically at the food laid out before them. How could he expect her to eat, knowing what he was about to announce? A feeling of dread festered in the pit of her stomach, seeming to swell as each new course arrived, bringing them closer to the inevitable.

Elália felt a nausea that had nothing to do with the alcohol she had consumed as the final plates were cleared from the table. Sure enough, as soon as the last servant left the dais, Thranduil rose, the room falling instantly silent. “I called you all here tonight to mark the end of our war with Gondor.” The Elvenking’s deep voice echoed throughout the room. “A war which, whilst brief, cost many of us dearly. It cost those who perpetrated wrongs against this kingdom even more so.” Ignoring Elália’s glare, he continued. “However, the denizens of Gondor should not be held to blame for the flawed actions of their former Kings & so I have taken them under my protection.”

_Fuck, what a load of shit._ Elália could not believe that he would spin his actions as benevolent.

“We must move forward towards a new dawn of peace & prosperity. Together.” He extended a hand to help her to her feet.Elália stood unsteadily, dizzy from her wine. Thranduil wrapped his arm about her waist for support. “And so, as a symbol of my commitment to peace & unity between both realms, I shall take Lady Elália for my bride.” He pulled the scarf free of her neck with a flourish, revealing the shimmering gems. Gasps & murmurs rang around the hall, gradually giving way to smatterings of applause, before Thranduil waved a hand to quiet his people.

“Futhermore, I firmly believe it is important for us all to begin the healing process as soon as possible, that we might put the strife of conflict behind us. And so, though I realise it may break with accepted traditions, I intend for us to be wed upon Midsummer’s Eve.”

_What?!_ Elália reeled in shock. That part had not been discussed. Midsummer’s Eve was barely a week away. She needed more time to reconcile herself, to come to terms with the idea of becoming his wife. How could he expect her to be ready so soon?

The Elvenking raised his voice above the low muttering that broke out at his words. “And in doing so may we truly lay to rest what I sincerely hope will be the last bloodshed either realm need ever endure.” he finished. He led the stunned Elália from the room before anyone could question him, leaving his people to their speculative murmuring. 

Tauriel watched them depart, listening to the voices of those left at the Royal table begin to rise, some more heated than others. The announcement had startled her more than anyone. Not so much that Elália had accepted the King’s proposal: doubtless she would have done so under duress, her eagerness for the grape now apparent.

No, what confused her more was Thranduil’s motivation for the wedding. He already had already claimed both Elália & her Kingdom for his own. She did not believe his words of altruism for one moment & she was not naive enough to think her King was capable of loving his prisoner. So what then could he possibly have to gain? Tauriel stood pondering, surveying the row of bickering elves in front of her.

The answer hit her like a thunderbolt, a memory of the last time there were guests from other Kingdoms seated at the King’s table. _So that was his plan._ But then, surely Gondor would have received the same news? Surely it wasn’t possible that Elália did not know? She had to speak to her friend & soon: Midsummer’s Eve would soon be upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try my best to get the next chapter done before Christmas, as there's no way in hell I'll have time to write over the holidays. For a start, my own 'Thranduil' will be off work (alright for some) & wanting my attention...


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